


another recovering heart

by superhoney



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (But the benefits are quality time and words of affirmation), (but not exactly), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Castiel (Supernatural) Has Self-Esteem Issues, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Dean Winchester Has Self-Esteem Issues, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends With Benefits, Happy Ending, M/M, Misunderstandings, Online Dating, Past Castiel/Inias (Supernatural), References to infidelity not between Dean and Cas, Switching, brief Dean/others
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 05:31:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 46,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20540906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superhoney/pseuds/superhoney
Summary: After his boyfriend leaves him for a co-worker, Cas Novak is adrift: crashing at his friend Balthazar’s apartment, throwing himself into work, and avoiding any and all social interaction. When Balthazar suggests online dating, Cas is skeptical, but one intriguing user named Dean promises something unique: a night of attention and compliments designed to restore confidence after a bad experience with love. One date is enough to prove he’s very good at what he does, but Cas needs more: more affirmation, more quality time, and more of Dean.The rules are clear: don’t get emotionally invested. But rules are made to be broken, and even bruised hearts can start to beat for someone new.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends! I figured I'd change it up and go back to posting something as a WIP instead of all the challenge fics I've been doing lately. I'm more than halfway finished writing this at the time of posting the first chapter, so updates should be on a regular, weekly-ish basis, and we're looking at around 11 chapters total.
> 
> Thank you to the most rare and wonderful Diamond for the beta-read and plot help. Title from HAIM's Little of Your Love.

Cas is staring down at his phone, mindlessly scrolling through an unnecessarily long email chain, when the elevator dings to announce its arrival. He enters and pushes the button for the seventh floor without even looking up, slumping against the mirrored wall and quickly composing a brief reply to the last message. It’s only when the elevator dings again and the doors open that he looks up and realizes his mistake.

Sighing, he waits for the doors to close, then pushes the button for the twelfth floor. He’s been staying in Balthazar’s guest bedroom for almost six weeks now, but force of habit is strong, especially when he isn’t paying attention. 

As the elevator climbs upwards, he looks at himself in the mirror, shaking his head. “Get yourself together,” he mutters under his breath, thankful that there’s no one around to witness his mistake. He takes a deep breath and slips his phone back into his messenger bag as the elevator chimes once more, now arrived at the correct floor.

He consciously turns left after exiting, not right. Remembers to swipe the fob over the electronic reader rather than fumbling for a key to insert into the lock. All the little differences, so trivial on their own, that add up to remind him how much his life has changed in the past six weeks.

The biggest difference, though, is who’s waiting to greet him as he enters the apartment. “Cas,” Balthazar says without looking up from his own phone, “blonde or redhead?”

“Redhead.” Cas kicks off his shoes and drops his bag on the ground, but hangs his jacket up properly in the hall closet. Balthazar can be particular about the state of his home, and no matter how close they are, Cas is still a guest here. “The last blonde you dated was a disaster, and you know how you get. You’ll convince yourself this one will be the same without even giving her a chance.”

“Excellent point.” Balthazar looks up and gives him an approving nod. “How was work?”

Cas shrugs as he walks into the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of wine from the bottle Balthazar has thoughtfully left open on the counter. “Typical,” he replies. “The summer students are complaining about working over the long weekends. I’ve told them they’re welcome to switch shifts if others are willing, but those are some of our busiest days, unfortunately.”

“How very diplomatic of you.” Balthazar holds out his own empty wineglass, and Cas dutifully refills it before joining him in the living room. “Of course, you’ll be working all the days yourself, won’t you?”

“Somebody has to keep them in line.” Cas shakes his head, imagining all the possible ways things could go wrong if he left the aquarium under the supervision of the summer students. “They’re all very enthusiastic, but so--”

“Young?” Balthazar supplies.

“Unseasoned,” Cas corrects. “They’ll get there in time.”

Balthazar salutes him with his glass, smiling. “Just like you did.”

“Exactly.” Cas winces, remembering his own first summer at the aquarium, when he volunteered to work all the early morning shifts to spend more time with the animals than with people. Almost ten years later, he’s a supervisor in charge of training their newest employees. Another reminder of the twists and turns life can take. 

Desperate to avoid that train of thought, he nods towards Balthazar’s phone, now lying on the coffee table. “So. A redhead?”

Grinning, Balthazar picks up the phone and passes it over to Cas. A pretty, petite redhead smirks at him from the interface of Balthazar’s favourite dating app. “She looks like she might give you a run for your money,” he comments. “I approve.”

“We’ll see.” Balthazar glances slyly at him, a familiar expression that immediately has Cas on alert. “What about you?”

“What about me?” Cas counters. “I can give you a run for your money too, Bal, but I thought we decided years ago that a relationship between us would be a disaster.”

“Not that.” The clear dismissal in Balthazar’s voice might have stung, were it not such a relief. “You dating someone. Not me, but someone.”

“I don’t want to date anyone,” Cas answers automatically. He can’t count the number of times he’s said the exact same thing over the past six weeks. Well-meaning friends and colleagues have tried to convince him that he needs to get back out there, that the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. 

Personally, he thinks it’s all bullshit.

Dating someone new isn’t going to make him forget that he spent three years with Inias, in what he thought was a happy, comfortable relationship, only for Inias to come home one day and tell him he’d fallen in love with someone else. It isn’t going to erase the memory of the look on Inias’ face, pity and guilt warring behind his eyes, as he suggested Cas move out of the apartment they’d shared for nearly two years. It isn’t going to change the way Cas lies awake at night, in the too-wide bed in Balthazar’s guest room, replaying every moment from his time with Inias and wondering if he missed the signs all along.

“I know,” Balthazar says, gentler than usual. “But Cas, the truth is--” He pauses, letting out a deep breath. “I’m worried about you.”

A lump rises in Cas’ throat at the concern in Balthazar’s eyes. “I’ll be alright,” he says. He isn’t sure which of them he’s trying to convince more. “I will. I just need time.”

“And you have it. Time, and space.” Balthazar waves his hand in the air, indicating the rest of his apartment. “I said you could stay here as long as you needed to, Cas, and I meant it. But I didn’t think you would be here all the time.”

Guilt crashes over Cas, an apology springing to his lips, but Balthazar cuts him off. “Stop that. I didn’t mean to say I’m tired of having you here. Quite the opposite, really.” He smiles, the crooked little quirk of his lips that Cas knows means he’s being sincere. “But you don’t go out to trivia anymore, and you refuse every time I invite you anywhere. You’re in danger of becoming a hermit, Cas, and I’ve left you to it because I thought it best, at first.” He reaches out and pokes Cas in the shoulder, earning him a startled yelp and a glare. “I’m not going to tell you how to live your life. As your best friend, and a wise elder, however, I do recommend that you find something else to think about, whether it’s a new hobby or a new partner.”

Ignoring the rest, Cas raises one eyebrow and says, “Wise elder?”

Balthazar sticks his nose in the air and adopts an expression of smug superiority. “I think turning forty earned me the right to that title.”

Cas scoffs, nudging him with his elbow. “Hardly.”

He can’t deny that Balthazar has a point. His social life has certainly taken a blow since Inias left him. Most of their friends were mutual acquaintances, and though Cas is certain he would have had sympathy (or pity) on his side, he hadn’t wanted to force any sort of choice on them. So he’d retreated from the trivia nights and weekend brewery tours on his own, and after a few weeks, the invitations stopped coming. 

Balthazar, of course, has been his friend for years, and never seemed particularly fond of Inias. “He’s boring,” he’d declared after their first meeting. “Nice enough, I suppose, but god, Cas, you can do so much better.” It’s a testament to the strength of their friendship that he has refrained from any such commentary recently, out of respect for Cas’ pain. 

“I guess I could find a new trivia team and do my best to absolutely annihilate Inias’,” Cas says thoughtfully. 

“Petty.” Balthazar gives him a nod of approval. “But too chancy. If you end up losing to them, you look both foolish and desperate.”

“True.” Cas considers his options for another minute. “We could do a makeover. New clothes, new hairstyle, maybe a reckless and ill-advised tattoo.”

Balthazar’s eyes light up. “Now that sounds like a proper revenge.” He reaches out and affectionately tousles Cas’ already mussed hair. “Though your hair is one of your greatest charms, darling. I wouldn’t change it for the world.” He tilts his head to the side, giving Cas a considering look that ought to have him running for the hills. “The rest, though--”

An hour and another bottle of wine later, Balthazar crosses his arms over his chest with a satisfied smile. “There,” he declares, dragging Cas over to stand in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom. “I am a genius.”

Cas is too busy examining his own reflection to point out that this was, in fact, his idea. He’s wearing a pair of Balthazar’s dark jeans, cut slimmer than he would normally choose, but he can’t deny the way they highlight the muscles in his thighs. Turning slightly, he admires the curve of his ass in the tight fabric, laughing to himself as he does. “This is ridiculous,” he declares, but he can’t stop the grin spreading across his face as he does.

“Ridiculously sexy,” Balthazar corrects. “Here.” He reaches out and tugs at the black t-shirt, the deep V-neck revealing more of Cas’ collarbone than he’s accustomed to. A collarbone that is currently adorned with a pair of black wings, a temporary tattoo gleefully salvaged from a pack Balthazar had bought to wear to some party months ago. “Much better.”

Cas traces over the wings with a careful finger, shaking his head. “I can’t wear this to work,” he points out. “And I’m still not sure I want to make my grand reappearance into society quite yet. So as fun as this is, what’s the point?”

Balthazar sighs, placing his hands on Cas’ shoulders and turning him to face the mirror directly. “One, it made you smile. Simple as that. Two, it serves as a reminder that you are young and attractive.” A mischievous smile curls at his lips. “And three, you don’t have to leave this apartment in order for people to see you like this.”

Before Cas can stop him, Balthazar pulls out his phone and snaps a picture, crowing in triumph. His expression quickly shifts into disappointment as he examines it, though. “You look like a deer in headlights,” he says, as though Cas can be blamed for not posing perfectly without warning. “Come on. Give me your best pout.”

Cas rolls his eyes, but the wine is humming pleasantly in his veins and he keeps sneaking surprised glances at himself in the mirror, pleased with what he sees there. So he squares his shoulders, shifts his weight, and does his best to imitate the poses he’s seen in Balthazar’s dating app profiles. 

They review the pictures together, and unanimously decide on the best one. Grinning to himself, Balthazar sends it to Cas, and watches over his shoulder as he opens Instagram. 

“Wait,” Balthazar says, gesturing impatiently for the phone. “Does Inias still follow you?”

Cas frowns, but doesn’t flinch at the name. He scrolls through his short list of followers and nods. “He does.”

“Interesting,” Balthazar mutters under his breath. “But perfect for our purposes.” He grabs the phone from Cas’ hands, fingers flying over the keys as he composes a caption. Cas tries to read it, but Balthazar bats him away, only handing the phone back after the picture has been posted. “There,” he says with a satisfied smile. “Mission accomplished.”

Cas looks down at the screen, at the confident, striking man in the picture. Below it, Balthazar has written _never looked better and you can’t stand it._

He laughs, but the high of the makeover is already wearing off. He almost doesn’t recognize himself in that picture, or in the boldness of the caption. Social media always casts an aspirational lens on your life, he knows, but it’s never left him with this hollow ache in his chest, wondering how he can make the attitude he sees in that photograph both real and lasting. 

“See?” Balthazar slings an arm over his shoulder, squeezing him tight. “I was right, wasn’t I?”

This time, Castiel does correct him. “It was my idea,” he says.

“But my clothes,” Balthazar replies without missing a beat. “We make a good team.”

“We do,” Cas agrees. He turns and wraps his arms around Balthazar, pulling him in for a brief hug. “Thank you, Bal. Not just for this, but for everything. I haven’t said it enough.”

Balthazar makes an impatient noise and returns the embrace. “You are most welcome. Now go to bed, young man. You have to work in the morning.”

Laughing, Cas disentangles himself and heads for his own room. As he strips off his borrowed clothes, he runs his fingers over the wings on his collarbone again, shaking his head. The rush of self-confidence he felt tonight may be as temporary as they are, but just as beautiful. 

It’s enough to grant him the best sleep he’s had in six weeks.

***

Cas spends two more weeks in the haze of routine, going to work and coming back to Balthazar’s apartment with hardly any stops in between, except to pick up groceries or other essentials. Balthazar hasn’t made any more suggestions about attempting to date or otherwise add to his social schedule, but Cas will catch him looking at him with something like frustration in his eyes. He knows Balthazar only wants the best for him, but he’s grateful for the lack of intervention.

He’ll get through this on his own schedule. His confidence might have been shaken by Inias’ departure, but his stubbornness hasn’t. 

It’s to his surprise, then, when he walks into the apartment after a long day at work and finds Balthazar grinning at him from the kitchen island, phone in hand. “Cas,” he announces, “I have found the perfect solution to your problem.”

“I wasn’t aware I had a problem,” Cas replies drily. He shrugs out of his jacket and hangs it up leisurely, ignoring the way Balthazar taps his fingers against the marble surface of the island. “But please, illuminate me.”

“So, as you know, things didn’t work out as planned with the redhead.” Balthazar ignores Cas’ sarcasm entirely, proof of his excitement over whatever scheme he has concocted. “I found myself browsing profiles again, and what did I stumble across but the absolute most perfect man for you, Cas.”

Rolling his eyes, Cas leans against the island, not bothering to glance down at the phone Balthazar brandishes in his direction. “Do you ever actually do any work, Bal, or do you spend your days looking for love in all the wrong places?”

“I work,” Balthazar says, pressing a hand to his chest in faux-offense. “But travel writing is a fickle business, and I need distractions.”

Cas shakes his head fondly. Balthazar is actually an accomplished writer, and has made an excellent living for himself through his blog-- as evidenced by the sprawling two-bedroom apartment Cas is currently crashing in. If he chooses to spend half his time trawling dating apps, who is Cas to judge?

“No matter.” Balthazar shakes his head and the phone in his hand. “Look, Cas. Please. Just read his profile.”

Sighing, Cas glances down. Then stops. Blinks, and looks again.

The man in the picture is absurdly attractive. Broad shoulders encased in a battered leather jacket, light brown hair that looks soft enough to touch, a wide grin, and warm, smiling eyes. Cas can’t determine their colour from the picture, but they’re inviting regardless.

When he finally looks up from the screen, it’s to meet Balthazar’s triumphant grin. “And just wait,” he says smugly. “That isn’t even the best part.”

Cas raises an expectant eyebrow as Balthazar flips to the next page, where the man’s details are listed. His name is Dean, he’s thirty-one years old, and he lists himself as bisexual. 

What really catches Cas’ eye, though, is the bold text proclaiming him only available for casual dating. 

“I’m sure there are hundreds-- thousands, even-- of other attractive people on these sites only looking for something casual,” Cas says, attempting a nonchalance he doesn’t feel. “What’s so special about this one, other than the obvious good looks?”

“Keep reading,” Balthazar advises.

Intrigued despite himself, Cas does. Below the brief list of details is a longer paragraph, and as he scans over it, he begins to understand Balthazar’s enthusiasm.

_Has love kicked you in the teeth one too many times? Have you had your heart broken, your faith in romance destroyed, your sense of self warped by someone who never appreciated you the way you deserved?_

_Well, you’ve come to the right place._

_My mission is to get you back on track. To help you get over whatever shitty hand life and love dealt you and to send you on your way, stronger and more confident than before. How, you might ask? Just by spending time with you and giving you the attention and admiration you deserve. _

_I’m not looking for anything long-term. I want to be the one who gives you the push to find that with someone else, if that’s what you’re looking for, or just give you a night to enjoy if not. I can promise you a safe, respectful, and enjoyable night (or day-- I’m flexible), and then we both go on our merry way._

_References available upon request._

Cas frowns down at the screen, then flips back to the picture. “Is this a joke?” he asks, looking up at Balthazar. “Why would someone who looks like that--” he indicates Dean’s photo-- “waste his time on this pity project?”

“Frankly, I have no idea.” Balthazar takes his phone back and logs out of his account, then winks at Cas. “But you can ask him, on your date.”

“I’m not--” Cas starts to protest, but Balthazar holds up a hand to stop him.

“Just think about it.” There’s a quiet pleading in his voice that Cas has never heard before. “I heard you when you said you didn’t want to date anyone, Cas, I really did. But that isn’t what this would be. It would just be--” He pauses, clearly searching for the right words. “A night off. A reset button. No strings attached, no expectations, just the chance to have dinner or drinks with a handsome man who is entirely prepared to lavish compliments on you. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

In all honesty, it sounds wonderful. But there’s only one problem. “It wouldn’t feel genuine,” Cas says quietly. “Knowing he does this all the time-- how could I believe anything he might say to me?”

“Well, like you said, we don’t know why does it. He certainly isn’t being paid for it.” Balthazar shrugs. “I quite like the idea, honestly. With very few exceptions, most people have something worth admiring, whether it’s surface level or something deeper. Calling one person beautiful doesn’t make the rest of the world any less so, does it?”

Slowly, Cas shakes his head. “No. It doesn’t.”

He looks down at Dean’s profile again, re-reading its first line. He isn’t entirely sure he’s had his heart broken-- he’s still too numb to really have absorbed the blow-- but his sense of self has certainly been shaken. He hasn’t wanted to admit it, not to Balthazar and not even to himself, just how crushing Inias’ betrayal was. 

He never defined himself by his relationships. Not with Inias, not with Meg before that, or even with Kelly way back in high school. He knows he still has intrinsic value as a person outside of his romantic attachments, that he’s intelligent and capable and occasionally funny, that he has people who respect and like him for exactly who he is. But it’s not always the same thing, being sure of yourself and being sure of your romantic or sexual desirability. He maintains the former, but Inias’ cool announcement that he had fallen in love with someone else had been a blow to the latter. 

Could one date change that? Cas looks down at the picture again, frowning. Dean-- if that’s even his real name-- is without a doubt one of the most attractive people Cas has ever seen. It would feel good, he thinks, to be seen with him. To sit across from him and feel those eyes on his face. To discover exactly what colour they are. There are traces of humour in Dean’s profile, enough to make Cas think he’d be amusing company. 

“Alright.” Cas takes his phone out of his pocket and passes it over to Balthazar, his mind made up. “You’re the expert. Make me a profile, send him a message.” He pauses, giving his friend a stern look. “And if this goes terribly, I’m blaming you.”

“Understood.” Balthazar smoothly plucks the phone from his grasp and begins typing away. “I’m proud of you, Cas. This is going to be a good thing, I’m sure of it.”

Cas isn’t quite so certain, especially when Balthazar grins and shows him his new profile, complete with the picture he’d taken during their makeover session two weeks before. Within minutes, though, Dean has liked his profile, meaning they can now send messages back and forth. 

After a few minutes of agonizing indecision, ignoring Balthazar’s more outrageous suggestions, Cas settles on a short, simple introduction. There’s no sense trying to establish a genuine connection. That isn’t what this is about.

_Hello, Dean. My name is Cas, and as much as it pains me to admit it, I may be in need of your services. Would Tuesday or Wednesday next week be convenient for you?_

Barely a minute passes before Dean replies. _Hey, Cas. Tuesday would be great. 8PM? Cool tattoo, btw._

“Well?” Balthazar asks eagerly, peering over Cas’ shoulder. “What did he say?”

Cas puts the phone down, slightly dazed. In the span of half an hour, he’s agreed to go on a date with a man he’s never met and arranged for that date to take place. He and Inias had known each other for months before they went for dinner the first time. 

Considering the way things ended, though, maybe taking it slow isn’t always a guarantee of a lasting relationship. Besides, that’s not what Cas is looking for, and not what Dean is offering. 

“It seems,” Cas says slowly, the words sounding strange to his own ears, “that I’m going on a date.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need more friends on twitter! Find me @superhoney115


	2. Chapter 2

At seven o’clock, Dean locks the door to Winchester Wayback behind Charlie, calls out a cheerful goodbye, and bounds up the stairs to the apartment above. He whistles to himself as he pushes open the creaky door and enters the quiet living room, tossing his keys onto the side table. There’s a stack of unopened mail there, but he ignores it. He has a date tonight, and if there’s one thing he prides himself on, it’s never being late.

After a quick shower, he wraps a towel around his waist and wipes the condensation off the bathroom mirror. He eyes himself critically, rubbing a hand over his chin. He’s got a bit of scruff, but he decides against shaving. Something tells him tonight’s date-- Cas, he reminds himself-- will appreciate the slightly rougher look.

He’d been surprised at the message. Even though he lists himself as being interested in men and women, not many guys bother reaching out to him. Or, if they do, they’re usually sending dick pics and tired pick-up lines. He deletes those as soon as he sees them, and he’d almost done the same with Cas’ before the polite, almost formal tone of his message registered.

Dean is looking forward to meeting this guy, whose words are so at odds with his profile picture. And based on that, he doesn’t think he’s going to have any trouble finding things to compliment Cas on. He’s about ten times hotter than any other guy Dean has ever dated, with those big blue eyes and messy dark hair and intriguing tattoo across his collarbone. 

Based on the vibe of that picture, Dean had suggested The Mercury Lounge, a pub not far from the store, the kind of place that looks like a dive from the outside but is warm and comfortable inside. He knows a few of the bartenders there, and he can just imagine the look on Jamie’s face when he shows up with yet another different person. Laughing to himself, he sweeps his hands through his hair until it settles into soft spikes, then throws a wink at his reflection.

He looks good, and he knows it.

Picking an outfit is simple: comfortable but flattering jeans, fitted black t-shirt, and a leather jacket. Not the battered, slightly-too-big one he inherited from his father, but the nicer, newer, better-fitting one Sam gave him five years ago, on the first day the shop opened. Dean runs his hands over the smooth leather and reminds himself to call Sam later. 

There’s no real reason to drive to the pub when it’s only a fifteen minute walk away and finding parking will take almost that long, but Dean grabs his keys on his way out the door regardless. His car is an essential ingredient in the Dean Winchester Date Night Special, whether his date sees him pull up in it or accepts his offer of a ride home at the end of the night. Even if they do neither, he still likes the time to get his head together, to slip into the best, most charming version of himself. The Impala is his anchor, and he honestly doesn’t think he could do this without her.

As predicted, it takes several rounds of circling the block to find a parking space, but Dean still has three minutes to spare when he pulls open the door to The Mercury Lounge. The interior is dimly lit, but there’s a large chandelier at the back of the long, narrow room and a cozy fireplace right across from the bar. Dean grins as he sees that the two armchairs clustered in front of the fireplace are unoccupied. It may be early summer and nothing burning there but a small candle, but it’s undeniably atmospheric. 

He takes a seat and nods to Jamie, who shakes her head at him as she pours a whiskey for the man at the bar. Dean motions to the empty seat across from him, indicating that he’ll wait until his date arrives, and Jamie nods. 

From his position, Dean has a good view of the doorway. He watches a few people come in, groups of friends chatting and laughing or couples holding hands as they grab high tables or booths for themselves. He slides his phone out of his pocket and opens the app, hoping Cas hasn’t cancelled last minute. There’s no word from him, which ought to be encouraging, but Dean has been left hanging before, and he really hopes it won’t happen again tonight.

Not even a minute later, the door swings open, and a tall, dark-haired man steps through. Dean squints at him, positive it’s Cas, though he’s dressed completely differently than he is in his profile picture. Taking a deep breath, Dean gets to his feet and waves to attract his attention. 

The man’s shoulders relax visibly and he heads directly for Dean, erasing any doubts as to his identity. Dean summons his best smile and stretches out his hand, and Cas takes it in a firm grip.

“You must be Dean,” he says in a deep, rough voice. 

Dean pushes down the flare of desire that rises at the sound of it and keeps his own voice light as he replies, “Must be. And you’re Cas.” He lets his eyes travel slowly down the length of Cas’ body, taking in the simple jeans and blue button-up shirt he’s wearing. He looks good, no denying it, but Dean can’t shake the feeling that he’s meeting the identical twin of the guy who messaged him rather than the man himself. 

“I am.” Cas drops Dean’s hand, tucking his own awkwardly into his pocket. “Shall we--” He indicates the chairs, and Dean nods subtly at Jamie before taking a seat again.

So Cas isn’t exactly what he expected. He can roll with it. Dean leans forward, still smiling, and says, “I was beginning to worry you weren’t going to show up. I’m really glad that you did.”

Even in the dim light of the bar, he can see the way Cas’ shoulders tense. “I did consider not coming,” he admits, looking away.

He doesn’t offer any further explanation, which doesn’t give Dean much to go on. Fortunately, Jamie has excellent timing. “What can I get for you two?” she asks, smiling down at them. 

Cas looks up and returns her smile. It’s small, but the change that it makes to his face is enormous. “The Unholy Stout, please,” he says. 

Dean nods. “The same for me.” 

Jamie raises a suspicious eyebrow, knowing it’s not Dean’s regular order, but just says, “I’ll be right back with those.”

Dean settles back in his seat and offers Cas his best smile. “I’ve never had the stout before. You’re already a good influence on me.”

Cas frowns at him. “How so?”

“You know.” Dean makes a loose gesture. “Willingness to try new things and all that.”

“Ah.” Cas’ frown turns into more of a grimace. “I’m not convinced that’s an admirable quality at the moment.” He glances at the ornate clock on the wall above the bar. “How long do these--” a loaded pause-- “dates typically last?”

It’s Dean’s turn to frown, stung. “If you don’t want to be here, you don’t have to be,” he says, voice harsher than he intended. “There’s the door.”

Cas blinks at him, then laughs. It’s bitter, but still a beautiful sound. “I’m sorry,” he says, and he sounds like he means it. “My people skills are rusty.” He runs a hand through his hair, leaving it endearingly rumpled. “It’s not that I don’t want to be here, just that my friend convinced me to do this.”

“That’s not exactly helping your case,” Dean tells him. Jamie drops off their beers, and Cas immediately grabs for his. Watching the way he takes a long gulp, eyes slipping closed in what looks like relief, Dean realizes the truth: he’s nervous.

That, he can work with.

He waits until Cas has set his beer back down before raising his own glass. “To trying new things?” he says.

Cas laughs again, more humour in it this time. “To trying new things,” he echoes, clinking his glass against Dean’s.

“So tell me about this friend of yours,” Dean says. It’s a tried and true tactic of his: ask questions that are personal, but not too personal. _Tell me about yourself_ never works-- too open, too daunting. But you can learn a lot about a person from listening to them talk about the other people in their life. 

“Balthazar?” Cas smiles, shaking his head. “He’s very persuasive, for one thing. Maybe it’s the accent-- we’re conditioned to accept anything said with a British accent as the truth.”

Dean nods encouragingly. “If he’s British, how did the two of you meet?”

“Oh, he’s lived here for years. His younger sister lost her accent completely, but I think Balthazar deliberately tries to keep it. He’s a bit of a snob like that.”

Dean notes that Cas didn’t actually answer his question, but lets it slide. “Do you have any siblings?”

“No.” Cas shakes his head. “It’s just me and my parents, who live in New York. I like to think we’re close, though we don’t see each other very often.” He pauses, then asks, “What about you?”

These dates are supposed to be about the other person, not about Dean, but it’s hard to keep the conversation entirely focused on one person. “I have a brother,” he says, carefully avoiding mentioning his parents. “Sam. He’s four years younger, which felt like a big deal when we were kids, but we’re old enough to be on mostly equal footing now.” He shakes his head in exaggerated dismay. “Except for the fact that he’s taller than me, but that’s a sore subject.”

“How very rude of him.” Cas smirks, and for the first time, Dean sees a hint of the man in his profile picture, bold and a bit edgy.

“Right?” Dean takes another sip of his beer, relaxing against the back of his chair. “He’s a good kid, though. Bounced around a few different jobs, and now he’s finishing up vet school.”

“Really?” Cas leans forward, eyes lighting up. “I don’t suppose he specializes in aquatic animals?”

“No, sorry. Mostly cats and dogs, I think. Why do you ask?”

“I work at the aquarium,” Cas answers. “We always need more vets on staff.”

“Dude, I love the aquarium!” Dean winces at the break in his composure, but it’s too late to dial back the enthusiasm now. “I haven’t been in years, but I remember going as a kid. I was obsessed with the sharks.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me at all,” Cas comments drily.

Ignoring that, and the strange sensation it prompts in his chest, Dean says, “So you must be pretty smart, working there.” 

Cas shrugs, but there’s a hint of a pleased smile playing around the corners of his lips. Dean inwardly fist-pumps the air, finally feeling like he’s succeeding in his goal of making Cas feel good about himself. 

“I have degrees in marine biology,” he says. “I got a summer internship between my Bachelor’s and starting grad school, and was lucky enough to get hired on permanently after that.”

Dean lets out a low whistle. “Doesn’t sound like luck had anything to do with it.”

“Maybe not.” Cas’ smile widens. “But don’t tell that to this year’s batch of interns. I’m in charge of handling them, and while some of them are exceedingly intelligent young people when it comes to their field, the lack of common sense is astounding.”

“Kids these days.” Dean shakes his head. “I’ve had a few employees like that myself. They usually wander off, too distracted to stick with it long enough to get any better.”

Cas tilts his head to the side, eyes curious. “What do you do?” he asks. “Other than this, I mean.”

It probably isn’t the time and place to get into his speech about how this isn’t a job to him. He can save that for Sam and Charlie. “I run a little store not far from here,” he says instead. “Vinyl, books, cards, whatever weird shit local artisans come in and convince me to stock.” 

“That sounds intriguing,” Cas says. “What’s it called?”

Dean hesitates for a moment, and Cas seems to realize his mistake, immediately lifting his hands in an apologetic gesture. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I imagine you need to be on your guard against people knowing too much.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, wincing. “I mean, you could easily go home and google it, find everything you need to know.” He recovers enough to wink broadly at Cas. “But I like to maintain some mystery.”

He’s charmed at the slight flush that rises in Cas’ cheeks. “Alright, then,” Cas says. “Keep your secrets.”

Dean squints at him. “Was that a Lord of the Rings reference?”

Cas grins, a broad, beaming expression that completely transforms his face. “I didn’t expect you to recognize it.”

“Please,” Dean scoffs. “I watch the extended editions at least once a year, and I’ve read the books at least five times.” He pauses, letting his eyes sweep slowly over Cas’ face. “And I gotta say, man, you could give Elijah Wood a run for his money in the big blue eyes department.”

“That’s a new one,” Cas says, laughing again. “Inias always used to say--” He breaks off, face going pale, and looks down at the table.

Dean gives him a moment. He’s pretty sure he knows exactly who Inias is: the reason Cas contacted him in the first place. When Cas doesn’t look up, Dean slowly reaches out and rests his hand on top of Cas’, lightly enough that he has space to pull away.

He doesn’t, but he does meet Dean’s eyes with a rueful grimace. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean says gently. He leaves his hand where it is, thumb rubbing lightly over Cas’ wrist. “Do you want to talk about him?”

Cas looks at him sidelong, clearly hesitant. “I thought the point of this--” he makes a loose gesture at Dean and the bar-- “was to forget about all of that.”

Dean shrugs. “Sometimes, yeah. But it isn’t always that easy.”

It can go either way. Some of his dates are desperate to tell him all about the reason they need his help, and he’s more than willing to lend an ear and some positive reinforcement along the way. Others will ignore it entirely, focused on the present, and Dean will do his best to keep them there. Up until now, he would have placed Cas firmly in the second camp. 

Cas looks away again, but doesn’t move his hand from Dean’s. After a long pause, he says, “He fell in love with someone else.”

Dean’s jaw tightens. “I hate cheaters,” he says. “You deserved better.”

A funny smile plays around Cas’ lips as he turns to face Dean. “The thing is, I don’t even know if he was cheating, strictly speaking. I never asked, and he never offered. He just told me he was in love with someone who wasn’t me, and that I should pack my things.”

“He kicked you out?” Dean can’t keep the indignation out of his voice. “What an asshole.”

Cas shrugs loosely. “It was his place first. At the time, I was too shocked to be offended.”

“Well, now it’s time.” Dean notes that Cas’ glass is empty, and waves to Jamie. “Do you want another beer?”

“Please.” Cas nods. “I think I might need it.”

Jamie is quick to bring them a new round, and Dean raises his glass. “Screw Inias,” he says. “What the hell kind of a name is that, anyway?”

Cas clinks his glass against Dean’s and takes a long swallow of his beer. “I thought it was elegant, at first. Of course, I don’t have much of a leg to stand on. Castiel isn’t exactly run of the mill either.”

“Castiel.” Dean repeats it slowly, tasting each syllable. He shakes his head. “No. That suits you, actually. It’s pretty badass.”

“Badass?” Cas raises one eyebrow at him. “I’ve never thought of it that way before. It’s the name of an angel.”

“Oh.” Dean blinks, then understanding dawns. “Is that where the wings come from?”

“The what?”

Dean gestures at Cas’ chest, his collarbone hidden by his buttoned-up shirt. “The tattoo.”

Cas opens his mouth, then closes it again. His shoulders start to shake, and for one terrible second, Dean thinks he’s somehow made the most awkward blunder of his life. Then he realizes Cas isn’t crying, he’s laughing, which leaves Dean feeling massively relieved but no closer to understanding.

Finally withdrawing his hand from Dean’s, Cas reaches up and unbuttons the top of his shirt, pulling his collar open. There’s an expanse of smooth, tanned skin there that immediately has Dean sitting up at attention, but no tattoo.

“It was temporary,” Cas explains, still laughing. “Balthazar had a bunch of them lying around, and we decided to have a bit of fun one night. To try to take my mind off things.” His expression goes somber again, but he doesn’t button his shirt back up.

Well, that explains the difference between the Cas in the picture and the one sitting across from him. Not that Dean’s complaining. He likes this Cas-- he feels like a real person, not a carefully posed and poised two-dimensional fantasy.

He’s a little bit disappointed about the tattoo, though.

“Did it work?” he asks. “Taking your mind off things, I mean.”

“A bit.” Cas takes another sip of his beer, fingers tapping restlessly against the side of the glass. “For a little while, anyway. Then I’d be at work, staying late because one of the interns made a mess of one of the tanks, and I’d pull out my phone to text Inias and have a message half-composed before I’d remember.”

“I’m sorry he did that to you,” Dean says. He holds Cas’ gaze, hating the misery he sees clouding those blue eyes. “I know it’s hard to believe, but it isn’t a reflection on you.”

Cas lets out a bitter laugh. “How can it not be? Obviously I wasn’t enough for him.”

“Hey.” Dean reaches out again, tipping Cas’ chin up with one finger. “You’re more than enough.”

“You barely know me,” Cas points out.

Dean smiles, putting all of his charm into it. “And I already know that you’re a goddamn treasure, Cas.”

It sounds like a well-rehearsed line, but Dean means every word of it. That’s the thing no one seems to understand, that he isn’t lying when he showers his dates with compliments and turns the full force of his attention onto them. Just because it’s deliberate doesn’t mean that it’s insincere. He has genuinely liked every single person he’s treated to this experience, and he remembers all of them fondly. 

He’s pretty sure he’s going to remember Cas for a long time.

Cas exhales shakily, his breath warm on Dean’s fingers. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “I don’t think I realized how much I needed to hear that.” He moves away, and Dean lets him go. “I think, more than anything, I want to ask him why. What she has that I don’t.” He pauses, then makes a face. “Well, aside from the obvious.”

Dean bites back his laughter, not wanting to ruin the reflective mood. “He left you for a girl?”

Cas waves a dismissive hand in the air. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. We’re both attracted to multiple genders, I knew that when we started dating. It wasn’t some case of retreating into the closet as part of a mid-life crisis or anything.”

“Okay, good.” Dean shakes his head. “I was really starting to dislike this guy.”

“I wish I could hate him,” Cas says quietly. “It would be easier that way. I’m just--” he shrugs, looking small and sad-- “so confused.”

Dean takes a deep breath. Over the years, he’s gotten pretty good at the advice-offering part of this whole thing, and he senses it’s time to switch into that mode. “Look,” he says. “You could confront him. Ask him all these questions, demand answers. But to be honest, he probably won’t have much to offer by way of explanation. Or he’ll say something that will only end up hurting you more.”

“So I should just bury it deep down and forget about it?” Cas asks, a hint of challenge in his tone. “Yeah, that sounds like a very healthy way of dealing with it.”

“God no,” Dean says, completely ignoring the fact that he tends to do exactly that when it comes to his own troubles. Recognizing his hypocrisy is the first step, but he hasn’t ever made much of an effort to move past it. “Try looking at it this way instead: humans are fucked up.”

Cas draws back, clearly startled, and then laughs. “Blunt, but not inaccurate.”

Dean nods. “We like to think we’re so smart and in control all the time, but we’re not. Especially when it comes to shit like feelings. I bet Inias didn’t plan to fall in love with this girl--”

“Rachel,” Cas supplies. “They work together.”

Inwardly, Dean rolls his eyes. What a cliché. But he doesn’t stop his passionate speech to comment on the predictability of it. “Right. Rachel. But sometimes, life takes you by surprise. That’s what I want you to remember, Cas. Just because Inias changed his mind, or his heart, or however you want to think about it, doesn’t mean that there’s anything fundamentally wrong or lacking with you. Whatever he found with her, somebody else is going to find with you, I guarantee it.”

Cas just stares at him, expression unreadable, tension radiating from every line in his body. Dean braces himself for an outburst, for Cas to storm off, but instead, he just says, “You’re very good at this.”

Dean smiles. Damn right he is. “You’re going to be okay, Cas. You’re already on your way.”

“Yes.” Cas nods, finishing his beer in one long pull. “I suppose I am.” 

He glances at the clock above the bar, but this time, it’s with clear regret on his face. “I should get going,” he says. “I have to work in the morning.”

“So do I.” Dean waves Jamie over and takes the bill out of her hands before Cas can protest. “My treat,” he says firmly. He passes a stack of cash to Jamie, who doesn’t even bother counting it before smiling at both him and Cas. “Enjoy your night, gentlemen,” she says, winking at Dean before turning away.

Dean holds the door open for Cas, and though he gets an eye-roll in response, he also gets the pleasure of seeing that faint flush stain his cheeks again. “Do you need a ride home?” he asks, twirling his keys between his fingers. 

Cas glances down at them, frowning. “I took the bus,” he says. “I think--” he shakes his head-- “I think I should do the same. I’ve got a lot to think about it, and besides, I don’t want to--” He bites his lip, cutting off whatever he was about to say.

Dean’s pretty sure he knows anyway. The bubble of their cozy evening has been popped, and they’re back in the real world now. Cas needs the clarity, the separation of going home alone. And Dean isn’t going to argue with that. 

As for the fact that he wouldn’t mind more time in Cas’ company-- he can just add that to the list of things he keeps firmly locked away in his mind.

“Alright,” he says. The bus stop is just on the other side of the street, not far from where the Impala is parked. “I’m headed that way too.”

They cross the street in silence, and Cas tucks his hands into his pockets as he stops under the streetlight. It casts a warm glow over the elegant lines of his face, and Dean is struck again by how handsome he is. 

“Well,” he says. “I guess this is goodnight.”

“I guess so.” Cas tilts his head at him, frowning, and then says in a rush, “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Dean replies. He really hopes it isn’t a request for his number. He’d hate to have to let Cas down like that-- and more than that, he’s scared he’d break his own rule and give it out. 

“Do you ever--” Cas swallows roughly-- “do you ever kiss your dates goodnight?”

Dean’s heart leaps in his chest, but he manages to keep his voice even. “Sometimes,” he says, cautious. “If they want to.” He takes a step closer, letting his gaze sweep over Cas’ plush lips. They look slightly chapped, but Dean would bet they’d be soft under his. He clenches his hands at his sides and wills himself to stay cool. “Do you want me to kiss you, Cas?”

Cas holds his gaze for a moment that feels like an eternity, then slowly shakes his head. “No,” he says quietly. “I’d know that it wasn’t real.”

“Alright.” Dean steps back, disappointed but not entirely surprised. “But I want you to know that there are different kinds of real.”

A small smile hovers at the edge of Cas’ lips. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, Dean, for an enjoyable evening.”

The bus is approaching, its headlights sweeping towards them. Dean winks at Cas as he turns to walk away. “No need to thank me, Cas. It’s no hardship spending the night with a stunner like you.”

Cas laughs, the sound swallowed up by the creak of the bus’ doors opening. It lights up his whole face, and Dean knows that’s the way he’s going to think of him-- not the pouty, tattooed version of him in that profile picture, but just like this, laughing on the side of the street. He waves to Dean before boarding the bus, and Dean waits until it has pulled away before heading back to his car.

He slides behind the wheel, shaking his head in amusement. He always feels a little bit strange at the end of one of these dates, knowing he’ll never see the person again but wishing them all the best regardless. He’s fairly confident that he gave Cas what he needed, though. With a bit of time, he’ll most likely find himself ready to try dating for real again, and hopefully even find another person to love and be loved by. If he’s done this right, Dean has given him the push he’ll need, and Cas will do the rest. 

And as for Dean-- he’ll go home to his empty bed and fall asleep, satisfied with another evening doing what he does best: being Mr. Right Now instead of Mr. Right.


	3. Chapter 3

The shrill ring of his phone wakes Cas from a peaceful sleep, and he grumbles to himself as he rolls over to grab it from the bedside table. “Yes?” he says without even checking to see who’s calling. Balthazar has a bad habit of forgetting about little things like time zones when he’s travelling, and this wouldn’t be the first time he’s accidentally woken Cas up with a totally unimportant call.

It isn’t Balthazar. It’s Hannah, though she sounds wretched, her voice weak and rough. “Cas? I’m so sorry, I know it’s your day off. But would you be able to cover me today? I woke up feeling awful.”

Cas sits up, the sheets pooling at his waist. “Judging by the sound of your voice, that’s an understatement.” He glances at the time on his screen. It’s only just after eight, and the aquarium doesn’t open until ten. “What time are you supposed to be there?”

The relief is clear in Hannah’s voice. “Eleven to seven. The workshop with the interns in the morning, and then regular duties until and after close.”

The thought of spending another three hours attempting to wrangle unruly college kids isn’t particularly appealing, but Cas can tell Hannah really is sick, and she’s been a good friend to him over the years, even if they don’t see each other outside of work. He sighs and says, “I’ll be there. I hope you feel better soon.”

“Thank you,” Hannah manages between fits of coughing. “I’ll owe you one.”

Ending the call, Cas slumps back in his bed. He could manage another hour or so of sleep, but he’s alert now, so he might as well embrace the fact that he’s going to have a productive day. Climbing out of bed, he stumbles down the hall to the bathroom and emerges a few minutes later, wearing nothing but his boxers. Even when Balthazar is home, he’s grown comfortable enough to do so, but his temporary roommate is away gallivanting across Europe, so Cas has the place to himself.

It’s strange, being alone in the apartment, its high ceilings and large windows making it feel even bigger without Balthazar’s presence to fill its empty spaces. Cas could afford to move out on his own, but he finds himself strangely reluctant to start searching for a new place. Even when Balthazar is away, it’s nice knowing he’s coming back. He also mentioned that his sister Hael might drop by unexpectedly, but so far, there’s been no sign of her. Cas doesn’t know Hael all that well, not the way he knows Balthazar, but it would still be nice to see her. Cas doesn’t think he’s quite ready for the solitary life yet, after so many years spent sharing a space with someone else. 

He scrolls through the news and his social media feeds while drinking his coffee at the kitchen island, then changes into shorts and a t-shirt and heads out for a run. There’s an excellent trail through a wooded area only a few blocks away, and he nods politely at the other joggers he passes, some of whom he recognizes from other mornings. One young woman, her long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, smiles broadly as he passes, but he just ducks his head and keeps moving past her.

By the time he circles back to Balthazar’s building, Cas has burned off his irritation at losing his day off. Running always helps to clear his mind and center himself, and with that new clarity, it’s easier to recognize the benefits of going in to work today. He had no real plans, and without Balthazar around to keep him company, he probably would have just spent the entire day watching Netflix on the couch. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course, but Cas hasn’t even been able to maintain interest in the most supposedly bingeworthy series lately. At least work will keep him busy, and he can save the overtime pay for a deposit on his new apartment whenever he gets around to finding one.

There are worse things to be than a dependable employee, he reminds himself. With that in mind, he grabs a few things that somewhat resemble a meal and throws them into his bag, then heads out. 

Joshua looks up from his desk as Cas swipes his access card over the scanner and pushes the glass door to the office area open. “I thought you were off today,” he says. “Don’t tell me I’m getting confused in my old age.”

“You’re not old,” Cas replies automatically. “And neither are you wrong. Hannah’s come down with a terrible cough, so I’m covering for her.”

“That’s mighty kind of you.” Joshua smiles at him and waves him through to the office he shares with Hannah and Layla. “Shouldn’t be too busy today. It is Monday, after all.”

Cas refrains from mentioning that it’s the interns he’s worried about, not the visitors. Judging by the twinkle in Joshua’s eyes, he already knows. 

After dropping his things in the office, Cas makes his way down the hall to the classroom. He can hear loud conversation and the occasional burst of laughter as he approaches, and he reaches up to adjust his navy tie and smooth a hand over his hair. “Good morning,” he says, pleased to note that his audience falls silent at his entrance. “I’ll be filling in for Hannah today. Sorry to disappoint you.”

“That’s not a disappointment,” Alfie says, then immediately turns beet-red. Cas bites back a smile-- Alfie has had an enormous, blatant crush on him since he arrived, and while Cas has carefully done nothing to encourage it, it hasn’t faded with time as he expected it to. 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Cas replies, leaning back against the desk and surveying the room. Aside from Alfie, he sees Kevin, Krissy, Max, Alicia, and Patience. He counts them off mentally and comes up one short. “Has anyone seen Mr. Fitzgerald this morning?”

The interns eye each other while Cas waits. “He’s probably running late,” Krissy says eventually. “You know how he is.”

Cas bites back a frustrated sigh. Yes, he knows exactly how Garth is. Brilliant and good-natured, but with his own very particular interpretation of things like punctuality and professional courtesy. “Let’s begin without him, then,” he says. “Tell me how your tours went this weekend.”

Max and Alicia trip all over themselves to be the first to answer, their sibling bickering a familiar routine by now. Cas eventually interrupts them to let Kevin and Patience share their experiences, but once the quieter voices have had their time, he sits back and lets them lead the discussion. They can learn just as much from each other as they can from him, and his role is as much to facilitate that peer learning as it is to impart his own knowledge. 

Garth stumbles through the door almost an hour late, excuses at the ready, but Cas just waves him to a seat. It’s difficult to stay mad at someone who looks and acts like a puppy, all big, soulful, pleading eyes. Come to think of it, the whole group is rather like a pack of puppies: excitable and eager and requiring a firm hand at some times, an indulgent one at others. 

Once they’ve finished their discussion, Cas takes them through a brief overview of the aquarium’s upcoming events. They have an after-hours party in collaboration with the local college coming up, as well as the annual fundraiser gala at the end of the summer. It’s a poorly-kept secret that the after-hours event is a test to determine which interns will be asked to help out during the gala, and that nearly all those who work the gala go on to acquire permanent positions on staff. It’s exactly the path Cas took to get to where he is now, and he can see the awareness of that in the interns’ eyes as he explains how important both events are to the aquarium’s continued success. 

“You’ll be expected to be on your best behaviour,” he concludes, deliberately looking at Garth as he does. “And I would suggest you aren’t late.”

The others break into laughter as Garth flushes, but his smile never fades. Cas privately thinks Garth won’t stay with them after the summer ends, but he also knows he’ll write him an excellent letter of recommendation for a different position should it come to it. 

He dismisses the group with a wave and a reminder to bring their latest lab reports in on Wednesday. They call out cheerful goodbyes as they stream out of the classroom, and Cas watches them go with an indulgent smile. For all his complaining, they really are good kids, and he’ll do his best to see them succeed in whatever comes next. 

Cas spends his lunch hour outside in the courtyard, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the light breeze that has sprung up, watching the lines of excited families approach the aquarium. He laughs as a toddler emerges from the gift shop exit clutching the largest stuffed shark they sell, eyes wide with delight as she nearly stumbles over it. Her parents attempt to take it away, but she just holds it tighter, stubbornness in every line of her body. Cas gives her a solemn salute as she passes, and she nods regally at him, the shark’s tail dragging on the ground behind her. He’ll have to tell Hannah about this when she’s feeling better-- she’s also the proud owner of one of those sharks.

His phone beeps at him, alerting him that his break is almost over. With a sigh, Cas returns inside, stopping by his office to grab some water and his nametag before heading out to the exhibits. He checks the schedule posted by the door and confirms that Hannah was meant to be in the tropical zone today, rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt in immediate response. He can’t say he loves how warm those rooms have to be kept, but the wall-to-wall tanks are some of his favourite in the entire building.

For the first hour, he wanders the zone, offering polite smiles to visitors and dropping tidbits of information about the inhabitants of the tanks. A group of wide-eyed tourists stare in awe at the sea turtle that floats lazily through the water, rapidly snapping pictures to get the best angle. At their request, Cas takes a picture of all of them in front of the tank, waving away their thanks with a small shrug. 

After that, he takes up position at the information stand set up beside the coral reef exhibit. He’s just winding down an impassioned speech on the importance of preserving those fragile ecosystems when he catches a glimpse of a familiar profile in front of the shark tank.

Cas hastily concludes his sentence, shoves a brochure at the man who had been listening, and cranes his neck for a better look. He can’t decide whether he’s dismayed or elated when he realizes it is in fact Dean, gesturing excitedly as the shark moves across the tank in front of him. 

Normally, when Cas runs into someone he knows while working, he’s more than happy to chat with them, offer them some insider information, or give them tips on how to get the best view for the sea otter feeding program. But Dean-- well, he isn’t really someone Cas knows. He’s just someone he went on a date with once. And not even a real date. An arranged self-esteem boost, nothing genuine about it. 

Torn, he busies himself arranging the pamphlets on the table in front of him, sneaking glances over at the shark tank. Someone has joined Dean now, even taller and broader across the shoulders, with long hair pulled back from his face. 

Cas swallows the lump that rises in his throat, his cheeks burning. Of course. Dean is here on another one of his dates. It’s a sweet idea, taking someone to the aquarium. Cas would fall fast and hard for someone who suggested it, regardless of his job here. 

As much as he wants to, he can’t stop himself from looking over again. This time, he watches a little while longer. Dean says something Cas can’t quite catch, shoving the other man good-naturedly when he replies. Cas frowns, tilting his head as he observes them. The taller man reaches for his phone and they turn around so their backs are to the tank. Dean throws a casual arm over his shoulders, and they both smile into the camera.

Dean was nowhere so free with his touches with Cas, even though he was free with his compliments. His behaviour towards the taller man isn’t that of someone on a first date, but speaks to long familiarity--

Of course. This must be his brother. 

Before he realizes he’s moving, Cas has stepped out from behind the desk and is crossing the room towards them. Sam-- he’s fairly certain that’s Dean’s brother’s name-- notices his approach and smiles politely, though his eyes are guarded.

Dean, on the other hand, goes visibly still, eyes widening. A smile spreads across his face, but Cas can’t tell how sincere it is, and he comes to a halt a few feet away, suddenly regretting his impetuous decision to come over.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says easily enough, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Indeed.” Cas tries to think of some clever reply, but comes up short. Instead, he looks over at Sam and holds out his hand. “Cas Novak. Nice to meet you.”

Sam’s hand is enormous, his grip just shy of threateningly tight. “Sam Winchester. You’re a friend of Dean’s?”

There’s a subtle emphasis on the word _friend_, just enough to make it clear that Sam knows exactly what Dean gets up to and doesn’t entirely approve of it. Cas stiffens, withdrawing his hand and squaring his shoulders. “An acquaintance, to be more precise.”

“Jesus,” Dean murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “Listen, Cas, I swear I’m not stalking you or anything--”

Cas blinks at him. “I never thought you were.” It’s too absurd to even consider, but Sam relaxes at Dean’s words, and he gives Cas a tiny nod that might be read as an apology.

“When you mentioned that you worked here the other night--” a pause, and a guilty glance in Sam’s direction-- “I realized it had been ages since I’d been, and since Sam and I both had a day off--”

“You don’t need to justify yourself to me,” Cas says gently. “On both a personal and a professional level, I’m happy that you’re here.”

Dean finally meets his eyes, and this time, there’s no mistaking the sincerity of his smile. “Cool. So, you wanna give us a tour?”

“Dean,” Sam hisses. “I’m sure Cas has plenty of other things he needs to be doing--”

“Not really,” Cas interrupts. It isn’t entirely true-- he’s supposed to be behind the desk for this last portion of his shift, but Joshua never comes to check on him, and the exhibit hall is slowly emptying out around them. It’s unlikely anyone will miss him. “I’d be happy to introduce you to some of our residents.”

Dean sends a smug look in Sam’s direction, then points up to the shark drifting elegantly through the water of the tank beside them. “So is this the same one I remember from when I was a kid?”

“Probably not.” Cas folds his hands behind his back, slipping into lecture mode without even realizing it. “That’s Xena, and she’s only been with us for about three years.”

“Xena?” Sam repeats. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, revealing a set of dimples that make him look both younger and much more approachable. “That’s a great name.”

“It is,” Cas agrees. He hesitates, wondering if this is the time for self-effacing modesty, then adds, “I picked it.”

“Dude.” Dean’s wide-eyed look of approval sends a strange flutter through Cas’ chest. “They let you name the sharks?”

“Well, it’s a bit more democratic than that. We all submitted our choices, and then voted on them.” Cas grins at the thought of the impassioned arguments that always follow the arrival of a new animal. “There were a few other strong contenders, like Empress and Madonna, but Xena beat them off.”

He pauses, glancing up at the tank fondly. “Did you know that some species of sharks have recently been found to reproduce via parthenogenesis?”

Dean narrows his eyes at him. “That sounds familiar, but it’s been a long time since high school biology, man.”

“It’s a form of asexual reproduction,” Sam volunteers. “It means that an embryo can develop without fertilization.”

“Exactly.” Cas gives him an approving nod. “A few other aquariums have had it happen, where their female sharks gave birth unexpectedly without ever coming into contact with any males.”

“Nice.” Dean grins up Xena. “I have got to tell Charlie that.”

“She probably already knows, but she’ll be happy that you do,” Sam says with a laugh.

“Charlie?” Cas asks. He’s hungry for more details about Dean’s life, now that he’s seeing him in a new context. This is the person Dean is on his days off, and from what he’s seen so far, he seems like someone Cas would like to be friends with. If that’s even possible, considering the way they met. 

“She works with me at the store,” Dean says. “Big Xena fan, if you know what I mean.” He winks, and Cas grins in understanding. 

“Tell her she should come visit sometime,” he says. “Xena and I will be happy to meet her.”

They stroll through the hall, stopping at almost every tank. Both Sam and Dean ask intelligent questions and listen intently to Cas’ answers. When they peer into the coral reef exhibit and Dean proudly exclaims, “I found Nemo!”, Sam rolls his eyes so heavily Cas has to choke back a laugh. “How many times do you hear that per day?” he asks Cas in a low voice.

“Too many to count,” Cas replies. He smiles as Dean crouches down, eyes wide with delight as he tracks the clownfish across the vast tank. “But the enthusiasm is endearing, no matter how tired the joke.”

Dean turns his head to the side, scowling at them. “Whatever. I love that fish.”

“He cries every time he watches it,” Sam confides to Cas, not bothering to lower his voice this time.

“Whatever,” Dean says again, rising to his feet and crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s sad, okay. Poor little guy’s lost, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get home.”

Cas smiles at him. “I cried the first time I saw it too,” he admits. 

“Ha!” Dean points a triumphant finger in Sam’s direction. “Guess you’re just heartless, Sammy.”

Sam rolls his eyes again, but the dimples have made a reappearance. It’s clear that this is an old argument between them, if argument is even the right word. Their bickering is comfortable in a way that reminds Cas of his relationship with Balthazar, both of them long-used to each other’s barbs. It’s highly entertaining to observe, and Cas no longer has any regrets about going over to say hello to Dean.

The disembodied voice over the speakers informs them that the aquarium will be closing in fifteen minutes, catching Cas off guard. He hadn’t realized how much time had passed. “Is there anything else in particular you wanted to see?” he asks, glancing between Sam and Dean.

“I want to go see the penguins again,” Dean answers immediately. Sam just shrugs and says, “Sure. Penguins are cool.”

Cas bites back his disappointment. The penguins are in an outdoor exhibit, and it’s his responsibility to clear the gallery he’s in charge of, so he can’t just wander off to escort the brothers back outside. 

“This is where we part, then,” he says, managing a small smile. 

“Oh.” For a brief second, there’s something that looks like disappointment in Dean’s eyes. “Well, thanks for the tour, Cas. It was really awesome.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Sam offers his hand, and this time, his grip is well within the realm of acceptable strength. “Nice meeting you, man.”

“You as well.” Cas is grateful that Sam doesn’t seem inclined to give him and Dean a private moment, forcing Cas to keep his tone casual as he says, “It was good to see you again, Dean.”

“Yeah.” Dean grins at him, no hint of awkwardness as he shakes Cas’ hand. “Say bye to Xena for me, will you?”

“Of course.” Cas waves them off, smiling to himself as he watches their tall figures disappear up the ramp towards the outdoor enclosures. He stands there for a minute, still smiling, before he shakes his head at himself and pastes on a sympathetic look as he approaches a group of stragglers to inform them that the aquarium is closing up. 

Once all the guests have finally been pushed towards the gift shop and the exit, Cas takes a quick tour of the hall to make sure nothing has been left behind, greeting the other employees as they come streaming in. There’s an entire team that does the behind-the-scenes work of maintenance and care for both the tanks and their inhabitants, and Cas is quick to get out of the way and leave them to their business. He used to think he would prefer that kind of job, but for all their occasional annoying tendencies, he does love sharing his knowledge and his passion with the guests. 

Heading back to his office, he types up a brief summary of the day and sends it off to his colleagues, making no mention of the hour or so he spent with Sam and Dean. He refuses to feel guilty about it-- he’s seen his co-workers do exactly the same thing on multiple occasions. Cas is the dependable one, the one everyone calls when they need a favour-- today being a case in point-- and if he indulged himself for one hour, what of it? No emergencies occurred while he was busy watching the way Dean’s face lit up at the sight of schools of fish darting through waving coral beds. 

It’s strange to consider how they wouldn’t have run into each today, had Cas not been that dependable employee. He wasn’t even supposed to be working. Cas isn’t so naive as to think it’s some sort of sign from the universe, throwing him and Dean together, but he does find it intriguing, the possibility of seeing Dean again outside the context of their first meeting.

Maybe he’s the one who owes Hannah for this, after all.


	4. Chapter 4

Rainy days are bad for business, but they’re great for getting things done around the store, so Dean isn’t bothered when he wakes up on a Wednesday morning to the sound of rain tapping against his windows. He rolls lazily out of bed, grabbing his robe from the back of the door and stumbling into the kitchen to turn on the coffeemaker. 

He hums quietly to himself as he pours the steaming coffee into his favourite mug, waiting for his toast to be ready before carrying his breakfast over to the small table in front of the window. The street below is quiet, but he likes to observe the few people out and about at this hour, on their way to work or doggedly carrying on with their morning run. After he’s finished eating, he takes a quick shower and changes into jeans and a plain navy t-shirt, then clatters down the stairs and into the shop.

As always, the first thing he does is turn on the music. There’s a record player near the front of the store, with a crate of assorted albums beside it and a sign that says “Play Me.” Once customers start coming in, they’ll happily switch out the albums at their whims, but for now, Dean just grabs something at random and laughs as the sound of Bon Jovi fills the store. 

He’s got a whole pile of new inventory to go through, including a bunch of donations from the senior citizens’ centre down the road. They’ve worked out a good system over the years: new residents are encouraged to donate any old knicknacks they won’t have room for in their new homes, and all the proceeds from the sale of those items go right back to the centre. Dean is looking forward to finding out what’s in this week’s box, but he should probably get everything else ready for open first.

At ten o’clock, he unlocks the door, waving to Donna as she does the same at her flower shop two doors down. “Good morning,” he calls out, and is treated to a sunny smile and wave in reply.

He peers down the street, and sure enough, a small figure in a bright yellow raincoat is making its way down towards the store at breakneck speed. Dean fights back a grin as Charlie approaches, her mouth already open to apologize for being all of two minutes late. 

“Let me guess,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “There was some asshole on the internet who needed to be taught a lesson, and justice isn’t beholden to illusions such as time, right?”

“Exactly.” Charlie beams as she slips past him and into the shop. “I’ve taught you so well.”

Sighing fondly to himself, Dean closes the door to keep out the wind and the rain, the bells jangling merrily as he does. “I doubt it will be very busy today, so if he needs further reinforcement, I’m sure I can spare you.”

“You’re the best, boss.” Charlie grins as she tosses her coat and bag into the small office in the back corner of the store, then turns an expectant gaze on him. “But until then--”

Dean casts a critical eye around the store. “Books could use reorganizing?” he suggests. “We had some giggling teenagers in last night, laughing at the old Harlequins. They’re probably all out of order now.”

Charlie throws him a crisp salute. “You got it.”

As she drags a stool over to the bulging bookshelves that line the walls, Dean starts opening the boxes from the seniors’ centre. There are a few porcelain figurines that will look good in the window displays, a bunch of books, a few movies-- on VHS, no less-- and then, at the bottom of the first box, a snowglobe with a model shark inside.

Dean shakes it, watching the glitter and flakes of artificial snow swirl around the glass. Why someone decided to put a shark inside a snowglobe, he really can’t say, but it does remind him--

“Hey, Charlie,” he calls out. “What do you know about shark sex?”

Slowly, Charlie turns to face him, one red eyebrow raised. “More than I’d admit in polite company, but seeing as that’s not an issue here--”

Dean flips her off, which only makes her grin. “No, but seriously. Did you know that some female sharks in captivity have had babies without ever coming into contact with males?”

It’s truly amazing how much disdain she can pack into one look, considering her tiny stature. “Of course I know that, Dean, I’m a lesbian nerd.”

“Oh.” Deflated, Dean puts the snowglobe down. “Yeah, should have seen that coming.”

Crossing the room, Charlie perches on the edge of the counter, narrowing her eyes at him. “But why do you know that? Have you been visiting the deeper reaches of the internet lately?”

Snorting, Dean shakes his head. “No. Just the aquarium.”

“Oh!” Charlie’s eyes widen, and without warning, she punches him in the shoulder. “Hey! Why wasn’t I invited?”

“Because you were on vacation,” Dean points out, rubbing his shoulder. “I just remembered to tell you about it now.”

Charlie sighs. “Alright, acceptable. So, what else did you learn?”

Dean launches into an enthusiastic recap of their day, sparing a moment to be grateful he has the kind of job where he can hang out and chat with his best friend for most of the day. He concludes with, “And then we went back to see the penguins one last time, because they’re awesome,” and waits for Charlie’s reaction.

Her face impassive, she asks, “Who’s Cas?”

Dean blinks at her. “What?”

“Who’s Cas?” Charlie repeats. “I think you said that name about a hundred times. I thought you went with Sam.”

“Oh.” Dean scratches the back of his neck. “Uh. He’s a guy I know. Sort of. And he works at the aquarium, so he gave us some inside scoop.”

“A guy you know.” Charlie shakes her head, but she’s grinning. “A guy you went on one of your dates with, you mean?”

“Yes, okay, fine.” Dean throws his hands in the air, feeling his cheeks start to burn.

Her grin fading, Charlie’s eyes go stern. “Did you know he worked at the aquarium before you went there?”

“Oh my god,” Dean mutters under his breath. “You and Sam both. I am not stalking him, alright? He mentioned it, yes, and it reminded me how fun that place is. Besides, he’s the one who came up and said hello to us.”

He’s still wondering about that himself. What prompted Cas to make that move. He could easily have ignored Dean, pretended not to have seen him. In his place, that’s probably what Dean would have done. Or given him a nod of acknowledgment and left it at that. 

“Oh.” Charlie grimaces. “Do we have to worry about this the other way, then?”

Dean knows what she’s implying, but he’s quick to discourage that line of thought. “Nah. He was friendly, but not overly familiar. Spent just as much time talking to Sam as he did to me. I don’t think he’s got clinger tendencies.”

“Okay,” Charlie says, though she doesn’t sound entirely convinced. She leans in closer, dropping her voice. “So, is he cute?”

Laughing, Dean opens his mouth to answer, then closes it again. Cas is definitely attractive-- very much so. He’s handsome in a classic way, but is he cute? Dean remembers the enthusiasm with which he’d recounted the story of Xena’s name and smiles to himself. “Yeah,” he says. “Kinda dorky, but yeah. He’s got this dark, messy hair, and these big blue eyes--”

He trails off, thinking of all the different versions of Cas he’s encountered so far. The sultry model in his online profile picture, the stiff but no less sexy formality of his first date persona, and the casual professor look he’d been rocking at the aquarium.

Snapping back to attention, he meets Charlie’s knowing gaze. “Why don’t you ask him out for real?” she suggests gently.

Dean flinches. “No way.”

“Dean--”

“No, Charlie.” Dean turns away, ripping the packing tape off the box and breaking it down, grateful for any excuse to not meet her eyes. “I don’t date. Not like that, anyway.”

“I know.” Charlie’s voice is as soft as the hand she lays on his shoulder. “And I get it, Dean. I do. You know I’ve never judged you for this thing you do. It just sounds like there’s something here, with this Cas guy, something--”

“Of course there is.” Dean turns to face her, mouth twisting into a wry smile. “It’s not like I say yes to every person who messages me. He’s a cool guy, and yeah, he’s hot. There’s something there, sure, but there’s a hint of something there with every one of my dates. That isn’t enough.”

He doesn’t mention the way his heartbeat picked up at the end of their date, when Cas looked at him from under those dark lashes and asked if he ever kissed any of his dates. Dean doesn’t keep track of how many people he’s gone out with-- it would feel cheap, somehow-- but he does know he’s kissed six of them. There’s a small part of him that regrets Cas not being among that number, not with any kind of resentment but just a particular wistfulness. He’d be willing to bet Cas would be a great kisser, tentative at first but quickly gaining confidence and enthusiasm.

Dean clears his throat, shaking off his heated thoughts. “It’s not going to happen,” he says firmly. “You know the rule.”

“One and done,” Charlie quotes. “Okay, Dean. But I’ve been skimming enough of those Harlequins as I sort them to have a pretty good idea where this is going.”

“That’s fiction,” Dean tells her. “Go on back to enjoying it, would you? We should at least pretend to get some work done today.”

“Fine.” Charlie hops down from the counter and rolls her eyes at him. “But just you wait. I bet Cas is secretly some sort of Greek billionaire, waiting to whisk you away on his giant yacht.”

“If he were a Greek billionaire, I doubt he’d be working at the aquarium,” Dean points out. 

“That’s just his cover story, obviously.” With that, Charlie flounces back over to the bookshelves, muttering something about stubborn men under her breath.

Once her back is turned, Dean slouches against the counter, hands clenched tightly at his sides. Charlie has a knack for drawing emotional honesty out of him, just like Sam does, and he’s grateful that he was able to shut her down before he got too sloppy. 

As the lunch hour approaches, traffic in the store picks up slightly, offering a welcome distraction. Dean chats with his regulars, mostly other business owners from the surrounding blocks, who stop by to see what he’s brought in recently or to pick up a last minute gift or card. The shark snowglobe is quickly snatched up, and Dean only feels a slight pang of regret as he wraps it in tissue paper and carefully places it in a bag for Jody, a local cop who often patrols this area. “Thanks,” she says, smiling broadly as he hands her the receipt. “Owen’s going to love it.”

“I bet,” Dean replies. So what if he briefly entertained the possibility of giving the snowglobe to Cas? Owen’s a good kid, and it’s been rough on him since Jody’s husband passed away. If a shark snowglobe is going to put a smile on his face, Dean can’t find it in himself to begrudge him that happiness. 

Once the rush dies down, Dean steps off the floor to take his own lunch break, leaving the shop in Charlie’s more-than-capable hands. He flops onto the couch in his apartment and picks at his leftover stir-fry from the night before, but before half an hour has even passed, he’s back downstairs in the store.

“I need to clean something,” he declares. “Go ahead and take your lunch, kiddo, and when you get back, would you mind being a bit more customer-focused so I can--” He gestures loosely to the tops of the shelves, where they store oversized items like globes and decorative lamps. 

Charlie narrows her eyes at him, but thankfully doesn’t pry. “Sure,” she says. “I’m going down to Benny’s, do you want anything?”

Dean can’t help perking up at the thought of Benny’s fantastic baking. His coffee shop is the best in town, in Dean’s opinion, and that isn’t just because they’re friends. “See if he’s got any cherry tarts left, would you?” 

“Should’ve known,” Charlie murmurs to herself. “Alright, be back in a bit. Don’t miss me too much.”

Shaking his head, Dean waves as she slips on her jacket and heads out. The rain has slowed to a soft but constant drizzle, and he watches it gather on the sidewalk for a few minutes before shaking himself out of his daze and returning to the last of the boxes from the seniors’ centre.

Benny apparently does have cherry tarts left, as Charlie returns with two of them and an extra butterscotch pecan cookie tucked into the box alongside them. Dean smiles to himself and sends Benny a quick thank-you text, then stashes the box away for later. “You good?” he checks with Charlie.

“As long as my boss doesn’t fire me for reading at work, yeah.” She waves one of the romance novels in his direction. “I’m almost at the dramatic love confession.”

“You do your thing,” Dean tells her, smothering a laugh. “Yell if you need me, alright?”

She throws him a sharp salute and settles back behind the counter, book in one hand and a steaming cup of chai in the other. There’s no one else in the store, but he knows the instant a customer walks in, she’ll be there to help.

Dragging the ladder out of the small storage room at the back of the shop, Dean arms himself with a duster, a roll of paper towel, and some all-purpose cleaner. Starting in the back corner, he carefully and methodically wipes down every item on display on top of the shelves, then dusts the shelf itself, clearing away fluff and the occasional cobweb with a grimace. 

Cleaning always helps restore his balance, at home but especially here at work. Winchester Wayback is Dean’s pride and joy, built up from nothing five years ago thanks to the hasty sale of the building and the savings whose origins Dean prefers not to think about. He’s sunk so much of his time, energy, and money into this place over those years, and nothing brings him more satisfaction than the looks of delight on his customer’s faces when they enter-- except maybe the matching looks they wear when they leave.

It isn’t exactly the way he thought his life would turn out. He used to have different dreams, different priorities, but Dean can’t say he’s disappointed in his day-to-day life. He’s healthy, he’s the owner of a small business that’s doing quite well, he gets to work with his best friend, he sees his mom and his brother as often as possible-- what else could he ask for? There’s one thing that would immediately spring to most people’s minds, but Dean doesn’t want that. That door was shut a long time ago. 

Lost in thought and lemon-scented cleaner, the rest of the afternoon passes quickly. At six o’clock, Charlie turns down the music enough to yell a goodbye from the front of the store. Dean waves to her from the top of the ladder, but doesn’t climb down. He has one row left to clean, and then he’ll take care of the usual end of day tasks, getting the deposit ready for the bank and making sure the few pricier pieces of jewelry are locked away in the safe. 

Pulling out his phone, Dean is slightly disappointed to see he has no new messages. Sam’s out of town for a conference, and while Dean has been enjoying the steady stream of updates about the talks and the other attendees, he does miss having his brother around. 

As he seals up the deposit bag, Dean catches sight of the white bakery box Charlie brought back from Benny’s earlier in the afternoon. Grinning, Dean composes a quick text. _Thanks for the treats, man. What are you up to tonight? Beers on me?_

It takes a few minutes for Benny to reply, but Dean finishes all his other jobs in the meantime. When his phone beeps, he swallows back his disappointment at Benny’s message. _Sorry brother, I’ve got plans tonight. Rain check?_

_Yeah, you bet._

He really should just leave it at that. But whether it’s plain curiosity or some weird way of punishing himself (Sam would say it’s the latter), Dean adds, _Got a hot date?_

_Much to my surprise, I do. Wish me luck._

Dean smiles, and it’s only slightly bitter. He’s happy for Benny, really. They’ve become good friends over the past three years, since Benny moved to Kansas City following a truly nasty break-up and ended up as one of Dean’s dates. He hasn’t pursued anything serious in the whole time Dean has known him, but this is exactly what Dean promised he’d get him ready for. So he types back _You’re going to do great. Tell me about it later._ and puts his phone away.

“Screw it,” he mutters to the empty store. Everyone else has plans tonight. He knows Wednesday is date night for Charlie and Dorothy, the reason she skips out at six instead of helping Dean close up. Sam is probably charming all the cute vets at his conference, and Benny is finally throwing himself back into the game-- why shouldn’t Dean do the same?

Within the careful structure of his established rules, of course.

Locking the inner door to the shop behind him, he climbs the stairs to his apartment and stretches his arms over his head as he examines the contents of his fridge. Rainy days always have him craving cheese, so he pulls out the ingredients for a classic casserole before heading to the bedroom to change into sweats and a worn t-shirt, flipping on the stereo as he does. Whenever someone gives him that pitying look and asks if it isn’t lonely living on his own, he always laughs, thinking of how much he’d have to adjust his habits if he were sharing his space with someone. If nothing else, they would have to be pretty patient with his constant loud music.

Forty-five minutes later, he settles onto the couch with a bowl of cheesy goodness, a beer, and his phone, already open to his preferred dating app. When he first started this whole thing, he flipped between a few different platforms, but it got hard to manage, and now he’s really only active on Tinder, since it seems to be the most popular dating app for the moment. 

He hasn’t checked his notifications in about a week, but he’s still surprised to see nine unread messages in his inbox. The first one is disappointing, a string of incomprehensible emojis and some lurid but unimaginative suggestions for what Dean and this guy could get up to together. He deletes it without regret, not even bothering with a reply. 

The next two messages are much more promising, both of them from local young women looking to boost their self-esteem after bad break-ups. Dean reads their messages with a familiar pain growing in his chest, noting how sweet they both seem even in those few words.

There are times Dean wonders if his reasons for dating this way are purely selfish. If he’s doing it out of his own need for control and nothing more. But when he reads messages like this, the combination of self-deprecation and honesty in them, he knows that isn’t the entire truth. As messed up as it might sound, he believes in what he does. So he pulls up the first girl’s profile-- her name is Katie, she’s twenty-seven and teaches third grade-- and starts to compose a message in reply. 

When she replies back and asks if he’d like to meet up, Dean glances down at the time on his phone and pauses for a minute before saying he’s available now. It’s only eight o’clock, and he can be ready to be out in the door within half an hour. It sounds like Katie could really use a distraction, and Dean--

He’s a damn good distraction.


	5. Chapter 5

It’s Friday night, and Cas is bored.

Not lonely. He ignores the tiny voice in the back of his head that suggests it isn’t just boredom he’s experiencing. He is alone, in several senses of the word, but that doesn’t mean he’s lonely. He’s just…

Bored.

Balthazar swept back in for two days, spent most of them sleeping and frantically typing in turn, then caught an early morning flight to Los Angeles with a connection to Hawaii to follow. Cas barely had a chance to say hello to him, let alone catch up, and the apartment feels quieter than ever now that he’s gone again.

At least he brought back some excellent offerings: chocolate from Belgium, tea from France, and wine from Spain. Cas plans to sample all three tonight. Between those delicacies and the abundance of programming available on Netflix, he’s sure to pass a reasonably entertaining evening. 

Halfway through the latest Netflix original, Cas puts down the chocolate and groans, burying his hands in his hair. Most days, he’d be perfectly content to spend his time like this, but for some reason, his solitude isn’t satisfying tonight. 

He wants company, but with Balthazar gone, there’s no one to provide it. 

Unless--

Cas glances at his phone, lying innocently on the coffee table. He reaches out, then stops himself. “Get a grip,” he mutters under his breath, and picks up the phone. 

Opening Tinder, he’s surprised at the volume of messages waiting for him. He hasn’t checked his profile since that first night Balthazar set it up-- the night he reached out to Dean. Almost a month ago, now. Cas isn’t convinced he’s ready to plunge headfirst into the dating pool again, but it couldn’t hurt to explore the possibilities, could it?

First, he pours himself a glass of wine. Then he opens the latest message, and nearly spits out his wine at the sight of the low-quality but extremely close-up picture of a dick that fills his screen. 

“I should have known,” he announces to the empty room. He takes a long sip of wine, deletes the message, and inhales deeply before moving on to the next one. 

This one thankfully contains no images, but the brief words _wanna fuck_ are just as cringeworthy. Hitting delete again, Cas shakes his head, wondering how Balthazar is able to find so many people to go out with this way. Either he’s much better at filtering his connections-- or he has much lower standards. Either possibility is equally likely. 

The next message is a slight improvement. At least it’s properly punctuated. A dark-haired woman smirks at him from her profile picture, a pair of red devil horns perched on top of her head. _Nice wings, angel. They say opposites attract-- shall we find out?_

Cas smiles despite himself. That stupid tattoo again. He runs his fingers idly against his hip, wondering what the reaction would be like if he posted a picture showing off his real ink. 

He’s fairly confident he could have an enjoyable night with this girl, but casual sex just doesn’t appeal at the moment. Still, he takes a minute to reply, figuring it’s the polite thing to do. _I believe I’ll resist the temptation, at least for the moment._

Barely ten seconds later, his phone chimes with a reply. _Your loss._

Cas laughs. She’s probably right, but he still doesn’t regret it. He skims over a few more messages until a shy smile in one profile picture catches his eye, and he opens it with cautious optimism.

_You’re probably not even going to read this, because you’re so far out of my league I can’t believe we’re even sharing virtual space, but what the hell, what have I got to lose? Your eyes are gorgeous. There isn’t much else to say, since your profile is woefully bare, but I’d love to chat sometime._

Pausing, Cas taps on the picture and is redirected to the user’s profile. His name is Carlos, he’s an artist, and he’s attractive in a quiet, unassuming manner. On his profile, he lists an interest in live music, fashion, and gardening. 

He seems sweet, and genuine, and unlikely to overwhelm Cas. Tapping his fingers thoughtfully against his leg, Cas considers sending him a reply. It wouldn’t be a commitment on his part, and Carlos doesn’t seem like the type of guy to turn into a rage monster if Cas has to let him down gently. But he hesitates, not sure what he would even say. _Hi, just so you know, that picture was part of a carefully posed and staged photoshoot in some strange power play against my ex. I’m really not that interesting in real life, but thank you for your kind words about my eyes_?

Cas snorts to himself and closes the message, though he doesn’t delete it. He wants to want a new relationship, but maybe he just isn’t quite there yet, loneliness aside.

He scrolls through the list of messages, not bothering to open every one, until the subject line on one about halfway down the page catches his eye. _Let me take you on the ride of your life,_ it declares. Caught between amusement and embarrassment, Cas opens it.

The user’s name is BruceTheTrucker. In his profile picture, he is, indeed, driving a truck, a cap pulled low over his forehead and an impressive beard covering most of his face. His age is listed as forty-five, though he looks older. 

_You’ve probably heard the joke before: don’t believe everything you see on the Internet! That blonde hottie could actually be some Canadian trucker named Bruce. Well, my friend, I’m not here to play games: I am a Canadian trucker named Bruce. And if you’re willing to take a chance on me, darlin’, I can promise you the ride of your life._

Cas blinks, then reads it again. Laughter bubbles up in his chest, and he immediately screenshots the message, sending it to Balthazar with a string of question and exclamation marks. Of course, he doesn’t reply. Cas isn’t even sure what time it is in Hawaii, but Balthazar is probably either asleep or too busy enjoying the scenery to check his phone.

His amusement is too great not to be shared, though. He’s scrolled down far enough in his message history that he can now see Dean’s name, the little green dot beside it indicating that he’s online. Before he can talk himself out of it, Cas opens his message thread with Dean and sends him the screenshot. _Is this peak online dating? Am I being pranked right now?_

Dean’s reply is almost instantaneous. _Oh, yeah, Bruce has been around for a while. He’s reached out to me before, but I don’t think he’s interested in what I’m offering and vice versa._ A few seconds later, another message comes through. _Maybe he’s exactly what you need, though._

Cas snorts in disbelief. _Doubtful_, he replies. _It could be some sort of elaborate double bluff. By acting so honest and open, he’s actually hiding something else._

_Wow. That’s...I never even considered that. Damnit, Cas._

Grinning, Cas stares down at his phone. Dean is so easy to talk to, despite the strangeness of their relationship. If it can even be called that. _As curious as I am, my instinct for self-preservation is stronger, sadly. The mystery of Bruce the Canadian trucker will have to remain for someone else to solve._

_Well, there goes my entertainment for the night,_ Dean writes back. _But hey! You’re online. Does this mean our night together worked? You’re ready to get back out there? That’s awesome, Cas._

Cas bites his lip. He doesn’t want to lie to Dean, really, but he doesn’t want to admit that he’s not actually interested in pursuing anything at this point, either. It might hurt Dean’s pride. On the other hand-- 

_Not really. I was just bored at home alone on a Friday night. I still don’t think I’m ready to start seeing anyone new._

_That’s okay too, man. Everyone works at their own pace. You’ll get there, I know it._

Dean’s encouragement settles warmly in Cas’ chest, and he takes another sip of his wine, letting the rich liquid linger on his tongue as he debates his answer. It would be rather forward of him, and he has no idea what Dean’s policy about repeat customers is-- though customers is a distasteful word for it. Still, if he’s learned anything tonight, it’s that he’s still holding himself back from the possibility of a new relationship. 

He remembers how good it felt, sitting across from Dean in that dimly-lit bar, feeling those green eyes fixed on him. How nice it was to feel appreciated, to feel worthwhile. Like something to be valued, not tossed aside. If he could just capture that feeling again, and act on it quickly rather than letting it fade away, maybe he could give someone new a try. Someone like Carlos.

So he takes a deep breath and types out a reply, praying he isn’t making an enormous mistake. 

_Maybe I need a bit more help._

His heart beats loudly in his chest as he waits for Dean to reply. And waits. The green dot is still beside his name, but he isn’t answering. Cas’ heart sinks, and he curses under his breath. There’s a fine line between confident and pushy, and he gets the feeling he’s landed on the wrong side of it.

Throwing his phone back on the table, he curls up on his side, tucking his hands under his cheeks. He can feel the heat in them, and he can’t tell whether it’s from the wine or his own shame. 

Reaching out for the rest of the chocolate he left abandoned on the table, Cas flinches at the sound of his phone beeping. Maybe it’s Bruce the Canadian trucker. Maybe Cas should just message him back, since Dean is probably never going to speak to him again.

Opening the app, Cas has never been more happy to be wrong.

_So here’s the thing, Cas. I have a rule: one and done. It sounds awful, I know, but it’s as much for everyone else’s protection as it is for mine._

He should have known. Really, it makes perfect sense. Shaking his head at himself, Cas reads on.

_Problem is, that rule kinda went flying out the window when we saw each other at the aquarium. You met my brother, for Christ’s sake. Like it or not, I’m invested now. I want to help you, Cas, I really do. You just have to do one thing for me: promise me you won’t fall in love with me._

Cas’ head spins with how quickly they went from the possibility of another ‘date’ to falling in love, but he isn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Willing himself to remain calm, he sends back, _What is this, A Walk To Remember? Please don’t tell me you’re dying._

_God, no. Good movie, though. I’ll take Mandy Moore and Shane West over Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams any day. Not that I’d be complaining about them, either…_

Grinning to himself, Cas’ fingers fly over the keypad once more. _Alright. If I promise not to fall in love with you, can we go out again?_

There’s another pause before Dean replies, and Cas holds his breath until the message comes through. _Can we talk in person? I think it’ll be easier that way._

_Of course,_ Cas replies immediately. _There’s a 24-hour diner not far from here. Lou’s. Do you know it?_

_I can be there in half an hour._

Leaping to his feet, Cas finds a stopper for the half-empty bottle of wine and stashes the last of his chocolate in the cupboard. He needs to shower, and he could probably use a shave--

Not that there’s any need to put in so much effort with his appearance. This isn’t even a date, real or not. It’s-- a meeting. A discussion. A strategy session? Cas can’t quite settle on the right word. Neither can he settle on the right shirt to change into, but that’s beside the point.

Thirty-five minutes later, he’s sliding into a booth at Lou’s, smiling nervously at Dean. “Hi,” he says, proud of the way his voice doesn’t squeak or shake or in any way reveal his mental state. 

Dean, for his part, looks completely unruffled. “Hey, Cas,” he says, a soft smile on his lips. He’s wearing a plain white t-shirt under his leather jacket, but it’s a different one than the one he wore on their first date. It’s older, the leather more worn, and though it doesn’t fit as closely to his body, it looks comfortable. 

Before they can get to the point of their meeting, a waitress stops by to take their orders. Dean flashes her a charming grin and requests a strawberry milkshake. Cas, panicking slightly, simply says, “The same for me.”

With a wink, she walks away to place their orders, and Dean turns to Cas, his grin fading. “So,” he says. “Let’s talk.”

“Sure.” Cas folds his hands neatly on the table and gives Dean his full attention. “What do we need to talk about?”

For the first time, Dean betrays a hint of nerves. He sighs and runs one hand through his hair, leaving it touchably rumpled. “Look,” he starts, then stops again. “I’m not trying to be a dick, okay? Or some overly cocky idiot, thinking everyone I meet is going to fall wildly in love with me. It’s just--” He trails off, biting his lip, and Castiel smiles softly at him.

“I get it. You just want to make sure nobody gets hurt. It’s admirable of you.”

Dean exhales slowly, his smile returning as the waitress brings over their milkshakes. “Exactly,” he says, pointing at Cas with his straw. “I know the people I go out with are vulnerable. It would be a total dick move if I gave them any encouragement, any hope of a longer relationship.”

“I understand.” Cas nods and lowers his head to take a sip of his milkshake. Dean does the same, and if Cas is momentarily distracted by the way his lips close around his straw, he isn’t breaking any promises. He never said he had to be unaffected by Dean’s physical charms. 

He just has to not let it go any deeper than that.

“But I meant it when I said I wanted to help you.” Dean leans forward, eyes earnest. “You’re a cool guy, Cas, and whoever you end up with had better treat you better than that Aiden guy.”

“Inias,” Cas corrects automatically. Dean makes a dismissive gesture, and Cas bites back a grin. “So how does this work, then?”

Dean shrugs, taking another sip of his milkshake. Cas looks away until the sound of Dean’s voice draws his attention back. “You tell me. You want to go out again, I’m guessing?”

“I think so.” Cas licks his lips, looking down at the table. “It was--nice.”

“Baby, I think I can do better than nice.”

Cas looks up, startled at the endearment, and is met with Dean’s crooked grin. “I’ve never done a second date like this before. I’d better step my game up, if ‘nice’ is what we’re trying to beat.”

“I didn’t mean to belittle it,” Cas protests. “I just--”

“Hey.” Dean’s smile turns softer. “I know. I’m just teasing you.”

Drawing in a deep breath, Cas spreads his hands before him. “I don’t know. I just feel like-- I should be over it by now, shouldn’t I? It’s been more than two months since Inias left. I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

“It doesn’t make you weak, or pathetic,” Dean says. Reaching out, he nudges Cas’ hand with his own, not holding it but letting it rest there, the faint pressure comfort enough. “I hear that a lot, you know. People thinking they’re somehow wrong for hurting, for not getting over things quickly enough. And it’s bullshit, okay?”

He stares across the table, and Cas can’t look away from those mesmerizing green eyes, the conviction in them that slowly passes to him. “Okay,” he says, and is rewarded with a dazzling smile. 

“Cool. So.” Dean clears his throat. “A few rules: no more than one date a week.” His chin rises slightly, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “And I’m going to be seeing other people, in exactly the same capacity, the whole time.”

“Of course.” Cas hadn’t even considered the possibility, but it’s the only logical way to proceed. He knows he can’t be the sole focus of Dean’s lavish attentions, and he’s okay with that. “I wouldn’t expect you to stop helping other people just because you’re helping me.”

“Good.” Dean nods sharply, but his shoulders relax. “Okay. I know it’s rude to talk about money, but I think we should split any bills. Keep things simple, create a clear boundary, you know?”

“That seems reasonable.” He lowers his voice, leaning in slightly. “Though I wouldn’t be surprised if our waitress doesn’t charge you for your milkshake. She’s been staring at you for some time now.”

Dean lets out a bark of laughter. “Tough luck, man. I promise you, though, by the end of this thing, you’ll be charming your way into free milkshakes just like me.” He reaches out and taps his finger lightly against the tip of Cas’ nose. “Your time will come, my shy but devastatingly handsome friend.”

His fingertips brush lightly against Cas’ cheek as he pulls them back. Cas opens his mouth but no words emerge, so he busies himself with his milkshake, lowering his head to hide the flush he can feel burning in his cheeks. 

He’s the one who asked for this. He asked to continue to be the recipient of Dean’s flirtatious words, his appreciative looks. Unfortunately, his traitorous body can’t quite seem to figure out that it’s all make-believe, that it’s something Dean is playing up for his benefit. But as long as he keeps a cool head, he can make it through this unscathed. 

It just might be a bit harder than he originally anticipated.

Clearing his throat, he manages to ask, “Is there anything else we need to discuss?”

Dean slowly shakes his head. “I think that just about covers it. Unless you want to make plans now for our next date?”

“Sure.” Cas pulls out his phone and consults his schedule. “Next week? I’m free Wednesday or Thursday evening.”

“We’re open later on Thursdays, so Wednesday would be better for me,” Dean says. “Did you have anything in mind?”

Cas shrugs. Honestly, he doubts the setting will matter. “I’ll text you closer to the day and we can decide?”

Dean hesitates for a moment. “I think we should stick to talking through the app,” he says gently.

“Right.” Cas shakes his head at his own mistake. “Boundaries.”

“Yeah.” Dean shrugs, looking apologetic. “I know it’s a dumb distinction, but--”

“It’s not dumb,” Cas says quickly. He takes a deep breath, nudging Dean’s foot under the table. “I’m grateful for your help. It means a lot to me, that you’re willing to spend time with me and work on my confidence. So if you need to have some ground rules, no matter how strange they might seem, please just tell me.” 

“Alright.” Dean looks up, a hint of mischief in his smile. “And just you wait. In no time at all, you’ll be strutting right back into the world of dating. Bruce the Canadian trucker won’t know what hit him.”

Startled into laughter, Cas kicks at Dean’s leg under the table. “Asshole,” he says, but he’s still smiling. Dean just continues to grin at him, unrepentant, and Cas finally starts to believe this wild scheme might actually work.

“You boys are so sweet,” their waitress says, stopping by their table and propping one hand on her hip. “Milkshakes are on the house.” She smiles at them both, but it’s Dean she winks at as she walks away, a deliberate sway to her hips.

“Ha!” Dean beams triumphantly at Cas, who can’t help being caught up in his enthusiasm. “Told you.”

“Yes, you’re very clever,” Cas says drily as he gets to his feet. He pulls out his wallet and leaves a nice tip for their waitress, hiding a smile as Dean does the same. 

Dean holds the door open for him, brushing off his protests. Outside, the night air is cool, and Cas pulls the sleeves of his sweater down to cover his wrists. “I guess this is goodnight, then.”

“Guess so.” Dean stands with his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket, but he pulls out the right one and offers it to Cas. “See you Wednesday?”

Cas shakes it and finds himself oddly reluctant to let go. “Wednesday,” he agrees.

With another small smile, Dean turns to walk away. He’s almost around the corner when Cas calls after him. “Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas?”

“Thank you.”

Dean’s laugh echoes down the nearly-empty street. “You can thank me when we’re done.” With one last wave, he strides off, whistling a cheerful tune.

Cas watches until he’s lost from sight, then turns towards Balthazar’s building. He’s still somewhat stunned at the turn his night has taken, but once the surprise fades, he’s fairly certain he’ll just be left pleased. Ever since Inias left, he’s been so hesitant, so cautious. But tonight, he took charge of the situation, and boldly asked for what he wanted. He can’t quite believe Dean agreed to his request, but he’s beyond grateful that he did.

It isn’t until he’s back in the apartment, flopping onto the bed that’s starting to feel like his own, that Cas pulls his phone back out to find a string of increasingly indignant messages from Balthazar. _I swear to god, Cas, if you’re out with a trucker named Bruce right now I am going to pack you in my carry-on bag the next time I travel, just to keep you out of trouble._

Cas snorts to himself and sets his alarm for the next day, replying only with _I’m not._ Balthazar can stew a little bit longer. Besides, when he hears what Cas has really been up to tonight, the lecture will be even longer and more outraged, and Cas doesn’t want to listen to good sense right now.

He wants to drift off, just like this, remembering the feeling of Dean’s fingertips brushing over his cheek.


	6. Chapter 6

It’s been years since Dean planned a second date. He spends the weekend trying and failing to come up with ideas for something fun and suitably date-like without crossing the line into serious territory. 

He isn’t sure who he’s trying to fool, because he’s already crossed a line by agreeing to this date in the first place. 

By Monday evening, he’s seriously reconsidering the whole thing. But then he remembers the look on Cas’ face when he talked about wanting to move on, the vulnerability there, and he knows he can’t quit on Cas now.

Which is how he finds himself Googling “date ideas Kansas City” in his apartment alone, shaking his head in disbelief at how he ended up here. 

The results are varied, but one thing immediately catches Dean’s eye: the old bowling alley on the other side of town has recently been renovated, and they do Rock’N’Bowl nights on Wednesdays. It’s charming, old-fashioned, and kind of dorky, but then again, so is Cas. 

It’s perfect.

Opening his dating app, he clicks on his message history with Cas. It doesn’t look like he’s online, but Dean types out a quick message anyway. _How do you feel about bowling? 8PM, Lucky Lanes?_

There’s no immediate reply, as expected. Dean puts his phone down and picks up the remote instead, hoping a few episodes of Netflix’s new sci-fi show will distract him. It works reasonably well, and Dean loses himself in the show for the forty or so minutes it takes for Cas to answer. 

If he makes an incredibly undignified scramble to grab his phone the instant it lights up, well, there’s no around to witness it. 

_I feel reasonably well-disposed towards bowling. See you there._

It isn’t the most enthusiastic response in the world, but it isn’t a refusal either. Smiling to himself in satisfaction, Dean puts his phone on silent and settles back to watch the next episode.

***

Dean pulls into the parking lot of Lucky Lanes at 7:55 on Wednesday night, then spends the next ten minutes circling to find a spot. The place is packed. Finally, he finds an empty space at the end of the last row, and executes some impressive maneuvering to get the Impala into it. Swearing under his breath, he heads quickly for the entrance, running a hand through his hair as he does.

Cas is waiting for him, leaning casually against the wall beside the counter. He raises one eyebrow at Dean’s approach, a hint of a grin tucked into the corners of his mouth. 

“I’m sorry,” Dean says quickly. “I was early, I swear, but it took forever to find a parking spot. I wasn’t expecting it to be so busy.”

“This is when I find public transit more convenient.” Cas waves a hand at the counter with a grimace. “We missed the worst of the line, but I hope they still have a lane available for us.”

The bored teenager on the other side of the desk confirms that they do have a few lanes still open, and Dean breathes a sigh of relief. He would have hated having to come up with a new plan at this point. The teenager directs them to lane six, and Dean flashes her a smile before placing his hand on Cas’ elbow and steering him towards their lane. 

The music is blaring, and there are people everywhere, heading back to their lanes with bowling shoes in hand or lining up at the concession to grab drinks and popcorn. “This is wild,” Dean says, leaning in close to make sure Cas can hear him. “I had no idea bowling was still so popular.”

Cas turns towards him, their faces only inches apart. Dean inhales sharply and draws back, putting a careful distance between them again. “Neither did I,” Cas replies. If he notices Dean’s clumsy movements, he’s polite enough not to comment on them. “I didn’t even know this place was still open.”

“I think they just renovated,” Dean answers as they approach the counter and request bowling shoes in their respective sizes. He grins as the employee, another bored-looking teenager, passes him a pair of red and black shoes with acid green shoelaces. Cas gets a similar pair, but the laces on his are bright orange. “So they probably stepped up their marketing game after that. Or maybe everyone just wants a chance to wear such awesome shoes.”

Cas laughs, looking down at his shoes with a smile. “Definitely the latter.”

Their lane is just a few down from the shoe exchange. A group of rowdy twenty-somethings are in the lane beside them, cheering and shit-talking in turn as one of them steps up to the line to start their turn. Dean programs their names into the computer as Cas sits down to change his shoes, then follows his example.

“You go first,” he says, waving towards the line. Cas looks like he’s about to protest, then shrugs and leans over to select his ball.

He runs his hands over each one, and Dean frowns. He looks like he knows what he’s doing, like he’s actually inspecting each ball rather than just grabbing the closest one. He’s never paid particular attention to Cas’ hands, but watching them run over the smooth, brightly-coloured surfaces, his long fingers dancing around the edges of the holes, Dean has to clear his throat and look away. 

When he risks another glance, Cas has finally selected his ball and stepped up to the line. He turns his head and shoots Dean a small smile over his shoulder, then drops fluidly into that perfect bowling pose, one leg sliding behind him as he sends the ball rolling down the lane.

Dean’s jaw drops. Cas moves like a professional, all grace and no hesitation, the long lines of his body frozen in place like a picture in an article on how to bowl like a champion. It’s not only the skill of it that has Dean staring, though-- Cas’ dark jeans cling tightly to his ass as he lunges back, and the way he holds his position as the ball speeds down the lane speaks to the strength in his core and his legs. 

The sound of the ball crashing into the pins shakes Dean out of his daze, and he manages to summon a supportive smile as six of them fall to the floor. Cas rises out of his crouch and grins back at him, eyes bright. 

“You played me,” Dean declares. He crosses his arms over his chest and pretends to pout. “Acting so nonchalant about bowling, when really you’re some kind of genius at it.”

Cas’ smile widens as he walks-- practically saunters-- over to select another ball. “We bowled a lot as a family, growing up,” he explains. “I haven’t been in years, to be honest, so I’m rusty. But I guess muscle memory takes over.”

“Guess so.” Dean has to look away again as Cas starts fondling the bowling balls, apparently totally unaware of the effect it’s having on him. “I’m starting to think this was a great idea. What better way to boost your confidence than to completely crush your opponent, right?”

Cas laughs, hoisting a bright blue ball in an easy one-handed grip. “I hadn’t considered that. But yes, I suppose it would provide a certain sense of satisfaction.”

“Alright then.” Dean shakes his head. “Guess I’m gonna lose.”

Watching Cas line up, Dean’s fairly confident his skill level isn’t going to be the reason he loses. Cas radiates cool competence as he sends the ball flying down the lane again, and Dean swallows heavily as he sinks into his pose. Between the physicality of it and the clear confidence Cas is radiating, it’s pushing all of Dean’s buttons, and he has to take a deep breath to try to restore some control over his body’s reactions. 

The last three pins fall, and Cas beams at Dean as he walks towards him. “Your turn,” he announces.

“You’re a tough act to follow,” Dean mutters as he gets to his feet. He glances down at the row of bowling balls, but doesn’t bother trying to pretend he knows what he’s doing. He just grabs the closest one and steps up to the line.

Glancing back over his shoulder, he sees an encouraging smile on Cas’ face. Inhaling deeply, Dean swings his arm back and lets the ball fly, lunging as he does but not even attempting to mimic Cas’ perfect form. 

He knocks down three pins, which isn’t terrible for his first try, but then sends the next ball flying into the gutter. Cheeks burning in embarrassment, he turns back to Cas and shrugs. “Not all of us can be secret bowling masters, I guess.”

“You’ll get better as we go along,” Cas predicts. He narrows his eyes and gives Dean a slow once-over, the intensity of his gaze setting Dean’s heart to racing. “Try sliding slightly to your left next time to avoid the gutter.”

It’s a professional appraisal, not Cas checking him out. “Sure,” Dean croaks, still shaken by the slow way Cas drags his eyes back up his face. “Yeah, I’ll give that a try.”

Cas smiles, selects another ball, and proceeds to bowl a perfect strike. It shouldn’t be as much of a turn-on as it is, but Dean is quickly approaching uncomfortable-pants-territory. 

He’s mentally chastising himself for being such a horndog when it hits him: despite the separate arrivals, despite smoothly splitting the cost of the lane and shoe rentals between them, he’s been treating this as a regular second date, not a repeat of his patented Dean Winchester Experience. On a normal date, Dean would be right to downplay his arousal, to not overwhelm Cas with it or put too much pressure on him. 

But this isn’t a normal date, and the whole point of it is to boost Cas’ self-esteem.

So as Cas turns back to him, a hint of a smirk hovering around his lips, Dean allows his own lips to curl up, his eyes to linger frankly on Cas’ legs before rising to his face. 

“You make bowling look sexy,” he says, purposely drawling out the words. 

For a second, Cas’ composure cracks, his eyes widening as he comes to a halt. “Really?” he says, and Dean’s desire is instantly overpowered by his anger at whoever made Cas doubt how damn gorgeous he is.

He takes a step forward and curls a hand over Cas’ elbow, leaning in close to make sure Cas can hear him over the pounding music. “Really,” he breathes. “I’m beginning to think the reason this place is so packed is that they all hoped they might catch a glimpse of you, bending over in those jeans.”

Cas’ eyes stay wide, his pupils dilating as he stares into Dean’s face. There’s a charged silence before he smiles again and says, “And here I thought you meant it was my skill that was so impressive.”

“Oh, that too,” Dean assures him, not moving out of his space. “Competence is sexy, and excellence--” He makes an appreciative noise. “Mmn.”

He finally takes a step back, and he doesn’t miss the way Cas’ body sways towards him, drawn together like magnets. Knowing how quickly things can go from flirtatious to foolish, Dean smiles and places a hand over his heart. “You’ve bowled me right over.”

Cas’ lips part. He blinks, then bursts into laughter. “Dean,” he says, shaking his head. “That was terrible.”

“I know.” Dean winks at him. “I like making you laugh, though.”

Still shaking his head, Cas drops into one of the seats and waves Dean forward. “Your turn,” he says. “I believe in you.”

Whether it’s thanks to those four little words, or just the fact that it’s his second turn, Dean manages to knock down three pins, then four. He’s more pleased with himself than he has any right to be as he turns back to Cas, beaming. “No gutter balls!”

There’s no mockery at all in the smile Cas gives him. “See? I told you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean waves a hand in the air as he sits down beside Cas. “We’ll see how long it lasts.”

“Not very long, with that attitude.” Primly, Cas adjusts his shirt as he walks over to pick his next ball, leaving Dean staring slack-jawed in his wake.

“Rude!” he calls out a few seconds later, just as Cas is about to send his ball flying down the lane. It obviously startles him, because he loses his grip on the ball a split-second too early, and sends it straight into the gutter.

“Oh, shit.” Dean winces as Cas looks over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised in displeasure. “Sorry?” he says weakly. 

Cas plants his hands on his hips and glares at him. “Did you do that on purpose?”

“What? No,” Dean protests, holding his hands up in front of himself. “I’m sorry. I’ll behave, I promise.”

“You’d better,” Cas warns, still giving him that stern look, and if Dean thought he was turned-on by Cas’ bowling skills, it’s nothing compared to the way his body heats up at that tone of voice.

Jesus Christ. Maybe it’s the bowling alley and the eighties hits blaring through the speakers that have Dean as sensitive as a teenager, sitting up at attention just from those two words. He licks his suddenly dry lips and nods jerkily as Cas grabs another ball, stalks back over to the line, and proceeds to knock down eight pins in one go.

This seems to restore his good mood, and they play through the rest of the game, trading teasing and encouraging remarks as they go. Cas wins handily, of course, though Dean does manage to bowl one spare by luck alone. The enormous smile Cas gives him in congratulations settles warmly in his chest, carrying him through the rest of his turns like a private cheerleader. 

When they’re finished, Cas turns to Dean and looks at him sidelong. “Do you want to play again?” he asks, a hint of shyness in his tone. 

Dean glances down at the time on his phone. It’s still reasonably early, and the place is still hopping. “Sure,” he says. “But let’s go grab a drink and a snack first. Problem with playing with only two people is we’re never in the same place at the same time.” He rests a hand on Cas’ shoulder, steering him towards the concession line. “We’ve barely had a chance to have a real conversation.”

Cas looks back over his shoulder and laughs. “The volume of the music doesn’t exactly help, either.”

“No,” Dean agrees. “But you have to admit, it’s kinda fun.”

They grab drinks and a large bucket of popcorn to share, then take their snacks back to their lane. Cas sits with perfect posture, sipping contentedly at his ginger ale, while Dean sprawls out on the hard plastic seat and looks at him over the edge of his cup. 

“Tell me more about your bowling history,” he says, only slightly teasing. “Were you in a kids’ league? Do you have trophies hiding in the back of your closet somewhere?”

“No, nothing like that.” Cas shudders, setting down his drink. “My parents just loved bowling.” His eyes soften, a small smile playing around his lips. “I think when they first started dating, it was one of the only places they could go in their small town in Illinois. They kept up the tradition, and once I was old enough, they started taking me with them.”

“And a legend was born,” Dean proclaims grandly, saluting Cas with his cup. “That’s sweet, though.”

“I suppose so,” Cas agrees. “I should tell them about this the next time we talk. They’ll be so pleased.”

“You can even tell them you crushed me completely, make them real proud,” Dean suggests. “And maybe the next time you visit them, or they come here, you can all bowl together again.”

“Yes, and my sixty-five year-old father would still win handily, I’m sure.” Cas laughs and picks his drink back up to take another sip.

“Then you would know my pain.” Dean presses a dramatic hand to his chest. “Would serve you right.”

“What about you?” Cas asks. “Did you go bowling with your family?”

Dean tenses, shaking his head tightly. “Once or twice,” he answers. “But as you can see by my lack of skill, it wasn’t a frequent pastime for my family.”

Cas tilts his head to the side, watching Dean with uncomfortable awareness in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I didn’t mean to bring up anything unpleasant.”

Sighing, Dean rests his hands in his lap, looking down at the table. “It’s fine. It’s not the biggest tragedy in the world, but--” He looks up to meet Cas’ sympathetic gaze and smiles bitterly. “My dad left when I was fourteen. Ran off with another woman, had a kid with her. Broke my mom’s heart.”

“I’m sorry,” Cas says again. “Do you still talk to him?”

Dean shakes his head, swallowing the lump that rises in his throat. “He passed away a few years ago. Heart attack.” He runs one hand through his hair and sighs again. “I was so pissed at him the first few years, I refused to see him. Eventually, though, I wanted to meet my half-brother, and I realized I couldn’t stay mad at my dad forever. Now when I think back on the years we missed out on--”

He breaks off, snapping his jaw shut. What the hell is he doing, spilling all his sad secrets to Cas? “Sorry,” he says, looking away. “Didn’t mean to unload on you there.”

“It’s fine.” Cas is still looking at him with those big blue eyes, unwavering. “I’m the one who asked. Please don’t apologize.”

“Anyway.” Dean clears his throat and attempts a smile. “Can we change the subject?”

“Of course.” Cas doesn’t bat an eye, just leans forward across the table and lowers his voice. “So if I’m some sort of secret bowling genius, what’s your hidden talent?”

“Sex,” Dean says instinctively.

Cas’ eyes flare wide, and he almost spits out his ginger ale. “Jesus, Dean.” He shakes his head, looking like he’s torn between shock and amusement. “I don’t doubt you at all. I just meant more like playing guitar, painting, woodcarving…”

“Oh.” Dean tries to think of a more appropriate answer and fails completely. “I was on the wrestling team in high school, but that was probably just the foundation for the sex thing.”

“Come on,” Cas coaxes. “Sex can’t be the only thing you’re good at.” His voice is steady, but there’s a faint hint of pink staining his cheeks. 

There are several responses Dean could make to that statement, but all of them would give away more of his own fucked-up history than he’d care to discuss. “Okay, fine,” he says, heaving a deep breath. He can’t believe he’s admitting this, but something about the way Cas is looking at him has him feeling comfortable enough to do so. “I’m actually a pretty good dancer. Sam dragged me to ballroom lessons a few years back because he wanted to impress this girl he was seeing at the time.”

Cas just stares at him, expressionless, for so long Dean thinks he might have somehow broken him. “Cas?” he says hesitantly. “You still with me?”

“Yes.” Cas shakes his head, eyes clearing. “That’s quite the hidden talent. But really, Dean, dancing is basically sex anyway, so I’m not sure you’re really branching out there.”

It’s Dean’s turn to stare before breaking into surprised laughter. Cas grins at him, looking far too pleased with himself, and Dean feels his heart give a funny little flip in his chest. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Cas informs him. “It was perfect.”

“Come on.” Still laughing, Dean drains the last of his soda and gets to his feet, reaching out his hand to Cas. “Let’s complete my humiliation by starting our next game.”

It goes almost exactly the same way as the first, with Cas almost perfect and Dean somewhere between total disaster and lucky bastard. The bowling alley slowly empties out around them, until they’re the last players in their zone and the music has been lowered to a more reasonable level. 

They each have one last turn. Cas goes first, lining up with his usual precision, and bowls a spare. Dean applauds him as he knocks down the last pin with ease, but Cas doesn’t step back from the line.

“Come here,” he says, urging Dean forward.

Frowning, Dean grabs a ball and joins him at the line. Cas smiles, reaching out to adjust Dean’s grip on the ball. His hand is warm and strong as he repositions Dean’s hand slightly, and as soon as he draws back, Dean finds himself missing the contact.

“Okay.” Cas moves around to his other side and cocks his head to the side, eyes narrowed. “Shift your weight to your left a bit. There, good.” Stepping closer again, he rests one hand at Dean’s side, the warmth of it tangible even through his shirt. “Hinge right here.”

“Okay,” Dean breathes out. They’re pressed close together, Cas’ body a long line of muscle against him. He leans unconsciously towards him, and Cas tuts as he pushes Dean’s hip back into position. 

“Now try.” Stepping back, Cas gives him an encouraging smile.

Taking a deep breath, Dean focuses on the cluster of pins at the end of the lane, He draws his arm back, feeling the weight of Cas’ stare on his back, and lets go.

All nine pins come crashing to the ground.

Dean’s jaw drops, and he stares for a second before whirling in place to meet Cas’ enthusiastic yell. Dean rushes forward, and his arms are around Cas before he even realizes he’s moved, gathering him up in a hug.

Cas fits perfectly in his arms, and he smells a bit like popcorn and like some subtle aftershave, a strangely intoxicating combination. Dean laughs as Cas tightens his arms around him, feeling the breadth of his shoulders under his hands. Smiling, Dean tilts his head to the side to meet Cas’ gaze, and the smile slides slowly off his face at what he sees there.

The heat in Cas’ gaze is enough to send shivers down Dean’s spine. He swallows roughly, his eyes flicking down to Cas’ lips, which are softly parted and still carrying the memory of a smile. If he just leaned forward a few inches--

“All bowlers, please finish your remaining turns. Lucky Lanes will be closing in ten minutes.”

Dean closes his eyes, biting back a curse. When he opens them again, it’s to a wry look on Cas’ face, like he knows exactly what Dean is thinking. The spell broken, Dean steps out of the embrace, lowering his arms to hang loosely at his sides. “Well,” he says lightly, though his heart is pounding in his chest, “it doesn’t make that much of a difference, in the end. You still beat my ass.”

Cas shrugs, the movement incredibly distracting now that Dean knows just how solid those shoulders are. “Take the little victories, Dean.”

“Alright, wise guy.” Dean points over to the shoe exchange, where a few other stragglers are lining up. “Let’s get out of these clown shoes and get out of here.”

Cas spends most of the walk out to the parking lot on his phone, shooting Dean an apologetic glance as he pulls it out of his pocket. Just outside the doors, he sighs and tucks it away, grimacing. “Well, thank you for another lovely evening,” he says. “I should have considered how infrequently the buses run at this time before staying so late, but I don’t regret it.”

“I’ll drive you home,” Dean says immediately. He usually makes that offer on his dates. Cas turned him down the first time, but judging by the way he’s looking out towards the bus stop with distaste on every line of his face, Dean doesn’t think it’s going to happen again.

“That would be very much appreciated,” Cas says slowly. One corner of his mouth lifts in a smile. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Casually, Dean rests a hand on Cas’ lower back and steers him towards the far end of the parking lot, where the Impala is now clearly visible in the open space surrounding it. “I love introducing Baby to new friends.”

“Baby?” Cas repeats, raising that damn eyebrow again.

“Look, not all of us are as clever at naming stuff as you, okay?” Dean flashes a grin as he pulls the passenger side door open and ushers Cas inside. “Sorry my car isn’t named something cool like Xena.”

“No,” Cas says thoughtfully as Dean slides behind the wheel. “Baby suits her.”

And Cas suits Baby. He looks damn good in her passenger seat, hand running gently over her dashboard. Dean sneaks another look at him, just for the pleasure of it, then pulls out of the parking lot.

He follows Cas’ directions back into the city centre, turning the radio on low just to fill the silence. It’s comfortable, surprisingly-- Dean might have expected some awkwardness after that interrupted embrace, but Cas doesn’t seem bothered, his dark head tipped back against the headrest and his expression relaxed. The summer breeze blows in through the open windows, ruffling his hair and carrying the scent of flowers as they pass by a city park. 

Dean pulls to a stop in front of a mid-rise condo building in one of the nicer areas of town. He lets out a low whistle as he parks the car, looking over at Cas with wide eyes. “Nice place.”

“It’s Balthazar’s, not mine,” Cas reminds him. “But yes, it is very nice. Which is probably why I’m so reluctant to move out and find something of my own.”

“Understandable.” Dean drums his fingers against the wheel, then swiftly unbuckles his seat belt and climbs out of the car. He’s around the other side in a flash, pulling Cas’ door open for him. Cas gives him a startled look as he gets out, but doesn’t comment.

“So.” Dean tucks his hands into his pockets, looking sidelong at Cas. “What secret talent of yours is going to be revealed on our next date?”

Cas laughs, the sound ringing out in the quiet street. “If I tell you now, it won’t be a secret.”

“Fine.” Dean pretends to pout, but he’s barely holding back a smile. “I like it when you get all mysterious on me, anyway.”

A look crosses over Cas’ face, something Dean can’t quite decipher. “Do you?” he says, voice low. He takes two steps forward, until there’s barely any space between them. “So if I offered to tell you another secret instead--”

“I’d want to know.” Dean pulls his hands back out his pocket, flexing them at his sides. He lowers his voice to match Cas’. “Tell me.”

Cas steps closer yet, eyes intent on Dean’s. “I want to kiss you.”

Dean swallows roughly. He wants it so bad he could cry, but he needs to know Cas is sure. “Even if it isn’t real?”

Cas smiles slightly. “You told me there are different kinds of real. It’s one of them, right?”

“Yeah,” Dean breathes. “It’s real, Cas.”

And then Cas’ lips are pressed to his, softly at first, like he isn’t sure what is and isn’t allowed. Dean groans into the kiss and slants his mouth sideways, deepening it, as he slides his hands down Cas’ back to rest at his hips, tugging him closer. Cas goes easily, sighing into Dean’s mouth and bringing his own hands up to Dean’s shoulders, holding him tight.

Dean isn’t sure how much time passes, lost in the feeling of Cas’ warm mouth against his, the taste and smell of him. He nips lightly at Cas’ lower lip and Cas growls, the sound lighting every nerve in Dean’s body on fire. Cas gives as good as he gets, pressing himself insistently against Dean’s front and doing something with his tongue that has Dean clutching tightly to him for fear of falling over otherwise.

Finally, Dean pulls back. He lets out a shaky breath, then drops one more soft kiss to Cas’ swollen lips. “We’ll talk soon, alright?”

Cas stares at him, eyes dark with obvious desire, and nods. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“Night, Cas.” Reluctantly, Dean steps back, leaning against Baby’s hood and grounding himself in her familiar presence. He raises one hand to wave as Cas steps through the glass door into the building’s lobby, and then he’s lost to sight.

Dean presses his raised hand to his lips, already missing the feel of Cas’ mouth against his. He takes a deep breath, then releases it. Frozen in place, an unfamiliar feeling building in his chest, he shakes his head and says, “Shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to sconesandtextingandmurder for the suggestion that they go bowling for their date!


	7. Chapter 7

It takes two full days for Cas to work up the courage to message Dean again.

He spends those two days reliving every moment of their bowling date, from the way Dean’s voice went slow and smooth as he told Cas he made bowling look sexy, to the tightness in his face when he talked about his father, to the feeling of their lips finally meeting. He relives that last one in the shower, head tipped back and hand on his cock, coming with a groan that sounds suspiciously like Dean’s name. 

If he were thinking rationally, he would put an end to this right now. Dean has done what he promised to do: he’s made Cas feel desirable. There was no hesitation in the way Dean kissed him, in the way he watched him bowl with such clear appreciation in his gaze. Just remembering the heat behind those green eyes sends a pleasant shiver down Cas’ spine. 

He wants to see that look in Dean’s eyes again.

So when he can finally see Dean’s name on the dating app without breaking into a sweat, he sends what is quite possibly the worst, least smooth message in the history of online dating.

_Hello, Dean._

The sweat comes after, as he waits for Dean to reply. Fortunately, Cas’ phone beeps only a few seconds later.

_Hey, Cas. Was wondering when you were going to reach out again._

Cas frowns down at the screen. He supposes it makes sense that Dean would give him this space, but if Dean was waiting around, couldn’t he have reached out himself?

He shakes his head as realization dawns. He’s forcing the expectations of normal dating onto their situation again. Communication might be a two-way street in a typical relationship, but he and Dean don’t work that way.

It’s a good reminder, but it doesn’t stop Cas from plunging himself headlong into another night of complicating things for himself. _Is it too soon to start planning our next date?_

_Nah, it’s fine. Sometime next week? What did you have in mind?_

Cas pulls his lower lip between his teeth, considering. Bowling was much more fun than he had anticipated, not only because of Dean’s company but because of the familiarity of it. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed it until he was there, the familiar sound of the pins crashing and the cheesy graphics on the screen every time he bowled a strike. 

That normalcy is something he’s missed, ever since Inias left. That sense of routine. He has it at work, of course, as the days until the gala tick down and the interns start to panic at a predictable rate. But on a personal level, he’s still crashing in his best friend’s apartment, still barely socializing-- still wallowing, for lack of a better word.

Maybe it’s time for that to change.

_I miss trivia. It sounds nerdy, I know, but I do. Would you be free Thursday night?_

_Not until 9:30 or so. We stay open until 8, and then I need to close the store and get ready. Is that too late?_

Cas sighs, disappointed. It’s hardly Dean’s fault, but once the idea struck him, he’d latched onto it quickly. _It starts at 8, unfortunately. Let me try to come up with something else._

A smile creeps across Cas’ face as he reads Dean’s reply. _Well, how about Wednesday instead? The place we went for our first date does music trivia there on Wednesday nights. I’ve never played, but I’m pretty good with music, and maybe it would get you your nerd fix?_

It’s a sweet thought, and Cas agrees without hesitation. _Wednesday it is. Shall we say 7:45, just to be safe?_

He doesn’t know much about the format of this trivia night, but two people does seem awfully small for a team. A group outing likely wouldn’t fit within Dean’s framework, but just in case--

_Is there anyone else you’d like to invite? In my experience, a bigger team is a better team._

_I’m willing to accept that principle, especially in other contexts, but I don’t really care about winning. Besides, I kinda want you all to myself._

“Jesus,” Cas mutters to himself. His heart flutters in his chest, and he directs a stern look downwards. “Calm down,” he says, well aware of the ridiculousness of speaking to one of his own internal organs. “Remember what this is, and what it isn’t. And remember what you promised.”

He isn’t there yet. He isn’t falling in love with Dean. But he’s self-aware enough to recognize the signs of looming danger, the potential for such an outcome, especially when Dean says things like this. Things that make Cas wonder what it would be like between them, if they were dating in earnest. If Dean would be just as sweet, just as suggestive. If he would kiss Cas every morning and every night--

Cas shakes his head firmly, attempting to dislodge the romantic daydreams stealing in. “He’s just doing what you asked him to do,” he reminds himself. “Why are you getting so caught up in this?”

The empty apartment doesn’t answer, and Cas finds himself wishing Balthazar were here. He’d laugh, at first, but he’d quickly turn serious, and he would listen to Cas’ rambling speeches and eventually offer some surprising wisdom. Putting his phone down before he does something entirely reckless, Cas crosses the apartment and looks at the calendar on the fridge. Balthazar is due back from Hawaii in a week, two days after the next date Dean and Cas have planned. A date Cas is absolutely not going to end with a kiss. 

He doesn’t regret it. He needed that more than he imagined, that physical reminder of his own desirability, but he also knows it was the tipping point, his heart and mind and body all tangled up together now. He needs time to unravel them, to separate the way they each react to Dean. To compartmentalize. It seems to be something Dean is very good at, based on the success of his enterprise. 

Too bad it would be entirely awkward to ask him for tips on how best to go about it.

***

Cas walks into The Mercury Lounge at seven-thirty, hoping the cozy seats by the fireplace will still be free, but sadly, they’re already occupied. The bar is significantly busier than it was the last time he was here, but he eventually finds a small table tucked near the back of the room. The same blonde server he remembers smiles at him as she approaches. “Hi,” she greets him. “Can I get you anything?”

“Thank you, but I think I’ll wait for my friend,” Cas replies, craning his neck to get a better view of the entrance.

The bartender narrows her eyes at him, but her expression soon clears in recognition. “You were here with Dean, weren’t you? I recognize that voice.”

Cas blinks at her, then nods. “Yes. I’m waiting for him now.”

She winks, and though there’s nothing flirtatious about it, Cas finds himself smiling in response. “I’ll let him know you’re here when he comes in, otherwise he might not find you.”

“Thank you,” Cas says, and she turns away with another smile.

Resting his hands on the table, Cas takes a look around the room. A few tables and booths have signs indicating they’re reserved, probably for regular teams. Others are slowly being filled as groups commandeer the appropriately-sized tables for themselves, the large wood ones at the back apparently in high demand. Cas laughs to himself, sparing a moment to be grateful that it’s just him and Dean tonight. They might have had a hard time finding a seat otherwise.

His gaze sweeping back towards the front of the bar, he catches sight of Dean striding jauntily towards him, and Cas’ breath catches in his throat. It’s strange, how easily he forgets just how good-looking Dean is, like his mind simply can’t cope with the reality of him until it’s undeniably there in front of him. 

Dean is dressed simply in a fitted black t-shirt and jeans, no jacket tonight. His face is set in neutral lines, but when he meets Cas’ gaze, a broad smile spreads across it. Cas instinctively smiles back and offers a little wave that he immediately regrets, because it probably looked ridiculous.

“Hey, Cas.” Dean gracefully slides into the chair across from Cas, still smiling. “Good to see you.”

“You as well.”

There’s a slight pause as Cas wonders if he should have stood at Dean’s approach, offered a hug or a handshake or--

No. Just because they kissed once, it doesn’t mean it’s now going to be a pattern of behaviour for them. Cas can’t let it be.

Fortunately, their server swings by again, dropping a friendly hand on Dean’s shoulder. “There he is. What can I get for you boys? We’ve got pitchers of IPA on special.”

Dean quirks an eyebrow at Cas, who just spreads his hands, signalling his lack of strong feelings about the matter. “Works for me,” Dean replies easily. “Thanks, Jamie.”

“Thank you,” Cas adds, mentally committing her name to memory. Jamie winks at them again and glides off, blonde hair bouncing behind her. 

“It’s busy in here,” Dean comments, looking around. “I didn’t know there were so many music nerds in this town.”

Cas nods. “Neither did I. It does limit our chances of winning, but fortunately, you said that doesn’t matter much to you.”

“It doesn’t.” Dean leans forward, eyes intent. “As long as it’s still fun for you.”

“It will be,” Cas assures him. There’s something warm building in his chest at Dean’s concern, and he swallows it back, aiming for levity instead. “But first, we’re going to need a team name.”

Dean waves a dismissive hand in the air. “You’re the one who’s good at naming shit, not me.”

“Oh, come on,” Cas coaxes. It’s possible he bats his eyelashes slightly, but the bar is dimly-lit enough that he could deny it, should he be so accused. “I’m sure you have a thousand classic-rock-related puns running through your mind right now.”

Biting his lip, Dean thinks it over. Cas waits quietly, nodding his thanks to Jamie when she brings over their pitcher and two glasses, then pours for the two of them. 

“How about Quiz On, Wayward Son?” Dean suggests, almost shyly. 

Cas smiles, then raises his glass in a salute. “I like it. Here’s to us.” He chokes almost immediately, realizing what he’s said. “Oh my god. I mean, us as a team, not us as in you and me, Dean, I’m so sorry--”

“Cas.” Dean holds up a hand, his shoulders shaking with laughter. “Calm down. I know what you meant.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Cas repeats. He looks down at the table, embarrassment heating his face. He didn’t mean to imply anything other than partnership in a teammate sense, but knowing how careful Dean has to be to negotiate the boundaries of whatever this is between them, it’s hard to imagine a more awkward thing to say. 

“Hey.” Dean reaches across the table and rests his hand over Cas’, just for a second. “It’s cool. Let’s just forget about it, okay?”

With a deep breath, Cas looks up. Dean doesn’t look mad, at least not on the surface. Mostly, he looks concerned. Cas summons a weak smile and says, “Okay.”

It’s nearing eight o’clock, and Cas can see someone going around to all the tables, dropping off pencils and quiz sheets. He frowns as the man approaches, then sits up straighter, grinning. “It’s Ash,” he says, his shame forgotten in his sudden delight.

“Who?” Dean peers around him, eyes going comically wide. “Mullet guy?”

“Yeah.” Cas waves as Ash approaches their table. “He hosts my usual quiz on Thursdays. I didn’t realize he did this one as well.”

“Hey, I know you.” Ash points at Cas with a pencil as he tosses their quiz sheet onto the table. “What are you doing so far out of your zone, friend?”

“Trying something new,” Cas answers. 

“Hmn.” Ash frowns at him for a moment, then shrugs. “Well, good luck. It’s a weird one tonight.”

Dean’s incredulous expression only deepens as he watches Ash saunter over to the next table. “You get used to him,” Cas assures him.

“If you say so,” Dean mutters. Face clearing, he pulls the question sheet towards himself, tucking the pencil behind his ear. “Picture round,” he reads. “Name the artist associated with these famous outfits.”

“Oh, those are always fun.” Cas leans forward to look at the sheet, but it’s hard to see anything between the angle and low lighting. “You’re usually not allowed to use your phone during the quiz, but I think we can make a case for the need to use the flashlight.” Pulling out his phone, he turns on the light and passes it over the page. “Well, that’s Elton John,” he says, pointing at the first image. 

Dean dutifully notes it down, his handwriting blocky and assured. “See, you’re kicking ass already. Okay, now I see we’ve got Kiss, Freddie Mercury--” He frowns, taking hold of Cas’ wrist to move the flashlight towards the bottom of the page. “Shania Twain?”

Cas laughs at the picture of a head-to-toe leopard-print outfit. “Yes, I believe so.”

“Hot,” Dean says as he writes it in. “Okay, what about these other ones?”

Reasonably confident about eight of their ten guesses, they wait for Ash to amble over to his microphone and start the rest of the quiz. Dean’s enthusiasm grows with every question he immediately knows the answer to, and he’s practically bouncing in his seat as Ash announces the start of the first name-that-song round. 

“This is awesome,” Dean declares, draining the last of his beer and immediately refilling his glass as well as Cas’. “I get why you missed it so much.”

“Well, music isn’t exactly my forte, but I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” Cas raises his glass in a toast, but wisely refrains from specifying what he’s toasting to. 

Every song they have to identify has something to do with dancing, according to Ash, and though they get the first few easily enough, they’re stumped on the fourth one. Dean drums along to the beat on the table top, a ferocious scowl on his face. “I know this,” he groans. “I swear, I know this.”

“He’ll usually play a few tracks again at the end of the round,” Cas assures him. “Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s a matter of pride, though.” Dean throws his hands dramatically in the air. “I know this!”

Cas stifles a laugh. He should have known Dean would get caught up in the spirit of it. It isn’t even so much about winning as it is about proving your knowledge to yourself, and there’s a certain rush that comes with being correct. Even though Dean has claimed more of their answers than Cas has at this point, he’s still riding that high himself, and it’s beyond reassuring to experience it again.

This might not be his usual bar, or his usual team, but this is something Cas knows, and something he’s missed, and he’s delighted to have it back in his life. 

When Ash asks if there are any songs they want to hear again, Dean immediately yells, “Number four!” He isn’t the only one calling for it, at least, and they’re smugly satisfied as other teams yell out numbers they’re confident in their answers for.

Track four plays again, and Dean closes his eyes, swaying to the beat. Cas watches him, fondness tinging his view like an Instagram filter. Suddenly, Dean slaps the table with one hand, eyes flying open. “Dancing On My Own,” he says triumphantly. “Robyn.”

Cas raises one eyebrow at him but writes it down in the blank space. “That’s a bit of a departure for you.”

Dean just shrugs. “Charlie plays it at the store a lot. It’s catchy.”

“It is that,” Cas agrees. “Thank you to Charlie.”

“She’ll be so proud of me,” Dean laughs. “Alright, what’s next?”

After the first round, they’re in second place, according to Ash. Dean lets out a whoop and raises his hand for a high-five. Grinning, Cas smacks his palm against Dean’s and pulls away before he can let the movement become a caress. 

The second name-that-tune round is all banjo covers of well-known tracks, and it’s frankly hilarious to watch the outrage on Dean’s face as some of his favourite songs are turned into twangy, often poorly-played pieces. Still, they manage to name them all, and then there are only a few questions remaining before the end of the quiz.

After Ash has collected their sheets, there’s a bit of a lull while he checks over the answers. Dean grins at Cas over the top of his glass and says, “You’re really good at this, aren’t you?”

Cas ducks his head, fighting back a smile. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

“Don’t be so modest,” Dean chides him. “I mean, this happens to be my area of expertise, but I bet at your other quiz, you’re a superstar.”

“I don’t know about that.” Cas shrugs modestly. “My team usually places, but we don’t always win.” His mouth twists into a bitter grimace as he realizes what he’s said. “Well, what used to be my team, I suppose.”

He wonders how they’re faring in his absence. If Inias and the others still go every week, and carefully don’t mention his name.

If Rachel sits in the spot that used to be his.

Hurt and betrayal rise like bile in his throat, and he takes a long sip of his beer to wash them away, back to coil in his stomach like snakes waiting to strike. Looking up, he meets Dean’s sympathetic gaze and shrugs again, pretending a level of detachment he wishes he could manage. 

“They’re probably losing without you,” Dean says.

It startles a laugh from Cas. “I don’t think I’m that valuable a member.”

“Sure you are.” Dean leans across the table, lowering his voice. “You know what? I bet everyone else on your old team is pissed at Inias for leaving you. They probably wish they could have had a vote to decide which of you got to stay on the team, and I bet they would have all picked you. They’re probably keeping track of every question Inias can’t answer and telling themselves ‘Cas would have known.’”

“Dean,” Cas protests, though he’s still laughing. “That’s horrible. And highly unlikely.”

“Don’t sell yourself so short, Cas.” Dean’s smile is as warm as the flames flickering in the fireplace at the front of the bar. “Just because Inias couldn’t see how amazing you are doesn’t mean everyone else is that foolish.”

Whatever flippant reply Cas hoped to make dies on his tongue. He opens his mouth, then shuts it again. There’s nothing he can say in response to such a beautiful statement of affirmation, and to brush it off would be an insult to Dean’s clear sincerity. Somewhere, deep down inside, in the same place his own complicated feelings towards Dean live, Cas almost believes him. But daring to examine that belief would bring those feelings to light as well, so he just nods, hoping Dean understands how grateful he is. 

They’re saved from an uncomfortable silence by Ash tapping on the microphone. “Alright, esteemed guests, we have our winners!” There’s a round of cheers from the audience, a hush falling as they all strain to listen. “In third place, we’ve got team Trivia Killed the Radio Star!”

Cas applauds politely as the group at one of the large wooden tables erupts into cheers. He and Dean exchange smiles, knowing that as a small team, third place was probably the best they could reasonably hope for.

But then Ash continues, “In second place, team Quiz On, Wayward Son!”

Dean’s jaw drops, and he looks wide-eyed at Cas. “That’s us!”

“It is.” Delight bubbles up in Cas’ chest, and he grins as the rest of the bar applauds them. “Dean, we got second place!”

“Not bad for a tiny team, right?” Dean reaches across the table and gives Cas an affectionate slap on the back. “So, what do we win?”

Cas doesn’t know, actually, but soon enough Ash appears before their table, holding a plain white envelope. “Figured it out,” he announces. “Kaz, right?”

“Cas,” Dean corrects him. “But yeah. Close enough.”

“Righteous. Well, Cas, and whoever you are, here’s your prize.” Ash hands them the envelope with a flourish. “Twenty-five dollar gift card to this fine establishment. Use it tonight, or come back and join us another time.”

“Nice,” Dean says appreciatively. 

Cas smiles at him, then nods at Ash. “Thank you. I’m sure we will be back. But hopefully my boyfriend and I can find a few others to fill our ranks next time.”

“May the Force be with you,” Ash says, tipping an imaginary hat at them. “Later, skaters.”

Shaking his head, Cas turns back to Dean, expecting some wry commentary on Ash’s choice of farewell. But instead, he’s met with tight-lipped silence.

“Dean?” he says cautiously. “Is everything alright?”

Slowly, Dean lets out a breath. “I think you know that it’s not.”

Frowning, Cas tries to pinpoint the moment Dean’s mood could have changed so quickly. They were coasting on the victory, Ash gave them their prize, and then--

No. Oh, no. He didn’t. 

He called Dean his boyfriend.

And unlike with his earlier slip-up, Dean doesn’t seem inclined to let this one slide. 

“Shit,” Cas says. He has no excuses. He was flying high with the adrenaline of their victory, he was trying to prove a point to someone he knew in a context he was used to being with Inias in-- nothing holds up. 

He called Dean his boyfriend because that’s how he thinks of him. Or what he wants him to be. It’s all a tangled mess Cas has been desperately trying to keep contained, but now he’s let it out and there’s no way to take it back.

“I--” he starts to say, then stops. Anything he says will just make things worse. He can’t read the look on Dean’s face, and that’s what scares him the most. 

Finally, Dean sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, Cas.” He pauses, then waves Jamie over from a nearby table. “This is my fault. I should never have agreed to a second date with you.”

“It’s not your fault,” Cas protests. “Dean, please don’t think that. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Instead of responding, Dean picks up the gift card they’ve won and presents it to Jamie, then slides her a few bills for a tip. She looks between the two of them, and clearly sensing the tension, gives them a brief smile before disappearing without a further word. 

“I don’t think we should see each other for a while,” Dean says quietly. He doesn’t meet Cas’ eyes, and Cas can’t blame him for it. “I wanted to help you, Cas, but I think you need some space to figure things out on your own.” He looks up, a sad smile tugging at his lips. “Without me confusing the issue for you.”

As much as he hates to admit it, Cas knows Dean is right. He’s been clinging to Dean’s company and his easy charm, but it’s about time he stood on his two feet again. 

“I don’t want to stop being your friend,” he says quietly. “Even without all the--” Cas waves his hand at the bar around them-- “I’ve always enjoyed talking to you, Dean.”

“I know.” Dean’s smile widens, but manages to grow sadder in proportion. “I liked talking to you too, Cas.”

He rises to his feet, jamming his hands into his back pockets. “Do you need a ride home?”

“No.” Cas stays seated, keeping some distance between them. “It’s an easy bus ride from here.”

“Right.” Dean laughs self-consciously. “I remember.” He shuffles in place, then squares his shoulders and looks directly at Cas. “Take care, Cas.”

“You too,” Cas replies. He wants to say something else, to convey his gratitude, to beg Dean to stay and talk this out, but the words won’t come. Instead, he simply watches as Dean walks out the door and most likely out of his life, wondering how he’s found himself in this situation for the second time in less than a year.

Except that it isn’t the same as when Inias left him, and that’s the whole problem. It was never a relationship, and Cas knew that. He just forgot, for one instant, and ruined everything. 

Sighing, he makes his way down to the bar and slides onto an empty stool. Jamie puts down the glass she’s polishing and raises an eyebrow at him. “Boy trouble?” she guesses.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Cas replies. “Whiskey, please. Copious amounts of whiskey.”

“You got it, hon.” She sets a glass down in front of him with a sympathetic smile. “I know it doesn’t seem like it right now, but it’s going to be okay.”

“I hope so,” Cas says, staring down at the amber liquid. “I really hope so.”

He raises it to his lips and lets the burn of the alcohol overpower the burning behind his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Thanksgiving for me today, and I'm thankful for each and every one of you reading this story! An extra thank-you to whichstiel for naming Cas and Dean's trivia team.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean can’t remember the last time he was this nervous about a date.

He’s ridiculously early, for one thing. They arranged to meet at seven, and Dean was at the restaurant by six forty-five. He’s waiting at the bar, nursing a beer, watching people come and go while avoiding the bartender’s curious looks.

He’s also more dressed up than usual, in a dark green button-down and his nicest jeans. He runs his hand over his freshly-shaved chin and sighs, wondering what the hell he’s doing in this place, which is significantly nicer than his usual choice of venue. 

His date deserves the best, though.

Dean glances down at his phone. 6:59. He adjusts the collar of his shirt, wipes his palms on his jeans, and looks back up just in time to see his date walk through the door.

She looks even more beautiful than she did in her profile picture. Dean’s mouth goes a little bit dry as he takes in the form-fitting, elegant black dress, the waves of dark hair, the tentative smile as she catches his eye across the room. There’s no doubt about it: Lisa is a stunningly gorgeous woman.

Sliding off his seat, Dean walks over to meet her, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “Hi,” he says, offering his hand. “I’m Dean.”

“Lisa,” she says, her smile widening. Her hand is soft but strong in his, and she doesn’t seem at all bothered that he offered a handshake instead of a kiss on the cheek or something else. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“No need to thank me.” Placing his hand in the small of her back, Dean guides her towards their table. His hand fits perfectly in the dip of her spine, and he can feel admiring gazes on both of them as they walk. “It’s a pleasure to spend an evening with a beautiful woman like yourself.”

She laughs, but a hint of pink appears in her cheeks as Dean pulls out her chair for her. “It’s been a long time since I was out anywhere that doesn’t have a kids’ menu,” she confesses, looking around the restaurant. It’s classy but unpretentious, which Dean appreciates, and he imagines Lisa does as well. “I might have forgotten how to maintain an adult conversation that doesn’t just revolve around my kid.”

“I don’t mind.” Dean shrugs as he takes his own seat. “If you want to talk about him, or if you don’t.”

It was actually one of the things that drew him to Lisa’s profile in the first place. In her thirties, a single mom, running her own yoga studio-- it sounded like she barely had any time to herself, and Dean could already tell it would be no stretch to give her some well-deserved attention. 

He deliberately avoids thinking about the reason he opened his inbox for the first time in a few weeks. What matters is that he’s here, with Lisa, and that she has the best night he can give her.

“Oh, I’m sure it will happen whether I intend it to or not,” Lisa laughs. “Ben is my whole world, and even when I’m away from him, I’m always thinking about him.”

“He’s a lucky kid, to have such a mom,” Dean says, just as their server arrives to take their drink orders.

After the wine has been poured, Dean raises his glass to Lisa. “To you.”

“I can’t toast to myself,” she protests.

“Why not?” Dean raises one eyebrow at her. “You’re amazing, and you deserve recognition. If a friend of yours was doing everything that you are, raising a kid on your own and running your own business, wouldn’t you want to celebrate them?”

He watches as Lisa’s expression goes thoughtful, then surprised. Slowly, a grin spreads across her face, more mischievous than her earlier smile. It’s a grin that promises all sorts of good trouble, and Dean can’t help responding in kind.

“Alright,” she says. “To me.”

They clink their glasses together, and Lisa holds his gaze as they take their first sips. When she puts her glass down, she sweeps her hair over one shoulder, then folds her hands on the table in front of herself. “I don’t know why I’ve been telling myself I couldn’t have this,” she admits. “It’s not like Ben is a baby anymore, he doesn’t need me every minute of every day. He’s perfectly happy to spend the night at his friend’s house. But some part of me just thought-- I’m a mom now, and Ben has to come first.”

“There’s nothing wrong with thinking that,” Dean tells her gently. Like he knows anything at all about being a parent. “But you’re allowed to have nice things too. Especially, like you said, now that he’s older.” 

“I guess I was worried about throwing my life off balance again.” Lisa shakes her head with a rueful smile. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have any regrets about Ben, but he wasn’t exactly planned, you know?”

Dean winces in sympathy, remembering a few conversations with some of his friends over the years. “Yeah.” 

“And maybe since then, I’ve just been trying to keep as many variables out of my life as possible,” Lisa continues. “Always telling myself I don’t want to mess with our routine, I don’t want Ben to feel threatened by me dating someone, but really--” she takes another long sip of wine--”I’ve just been afraid.”

“I get that.” More than she knows. More than he’s willing to admit. “I’m really proud of you for taking this first step, if that isn’t too weird to say.”

“Maybe a little bit.” Lisa grins again. “But I don’t mind. I’m proud of me too.”

“I told you, you’re worth toasting to.” Dean raises his glass again. “Especially in that dress.” He winks at her, aiming for more charming than lecherous. Lisa laughs, so he figures he hit his mark. 

“I went shopping just for tonight,” she says, lowering her voice like she’s telling him a secret. “I haven’t had a reason to dress up in years. The most formal I get is for parent-teacher interviews.”

“Well, you look incredible.” Dean reaches across the table and lays his hand over hers as their server returns with their meals. “And you’ll still look incredible even if you get pasta sauce on your dress.”

It startles another laugh from Lisa, and they keep the mood light as they eat. She’s quick-witted and compassionate, talking about how much she loves her work and helping people through yoga. “I’m fulfilled by my work, and by being Ben’s mom,” she concludes, twirling the last of her pasta around her fork. “But I still find myself wishing I had somebody to share it all with, you know?”

“Yeah.” Dean nods, and for a moment, he lets himself imagine it. Being that person for Lisa. Coming home to cook dinner with her, taking Ben to baseball practice, grudgingly attending one of Lisa’s yoga classes and admiring the sight of her in those tight little pants. The scenarios come to his mind easily, and he’s pretty sure he could be happy with her, if either of them were interested in pursuing a relationship with each other.

But that’s the problem. He isn’t. He likes Lisa a lot, and he wishes her nothing but the best. The person she’s talking about, though, the one to share her life with-- it isn’t going to be Dean.

And not just because he doesn’t do relationships. Because if there’s someone he wants to be that person for, it isn’t Lisa.

It’s Cas.

Dean has been avoiding thinking about it-- about him-- ever since he walked out of The Mercury Lounge almost two weeks ago. It was one of the hardest things he’s ever done, leaving Cas like that, but he’s still convinced it was for the best. Not just for Cas, but for himself. 

The way he felt when Cas called him his boyfriend-- that flare of pure joy, quickly snuffed out by reason. Cas didn’t mean it, he was just caught up in the façade, in the excitement of their win. It was exactly why Dean was initially hesitant to go on that second and third date with him-- the risk of Cas losing himself in what they were doing. 

Or even worse, Dean doing the same.

If he’s being totally honest, that’s the worst part. The realization that he wants it to be real, that he wants Cas to be his boyfriend, or at least have the potential to be. That he played himself, trying to keep his distance and ending up closer to someone than he’s been in years. When he told Cas they needed some time apart, it really was for both of them. Dean was never expecting anyone to sneak through his carefully-built walls, but Cas did, and he had absolutely no idea what to do with that, so when Cas made one tiny slip, he took the chance and ran. 

Despite all that, there was a piece of him that hoped Cas would message him anyway, would make some big declaration, would want to be with Dean despite the way they started this whole thing.

It’s been almost two weeks, and he hasn’t heard from Cas at all. Dean figures that’s all the answer he’s going to get, and so he’s here, with Lisa, throwing himself back into one-time-only dates to remind himself what he’s good at. What he’s good for.

Summoning his best smile, he says, “I may not be the guy to share your life with, but I’d be happy to be the one you share dessert with.”

“Only if it’s chocolate,” Lisa replies. “And fair warning, it might not be evenly shared.”

“Who am I to stand between a lady and her chocolate?” Dean grins and waves their server over to request the fudge cheesecake he noticed on the menu earlier. As she smiles and turns away, moving out of Dean’s direct line of sight, he looks across the room and meets a very familiar pair of eyes.

Dean’s breath catches in his throat as he stares at Cas, who is sitting upright, not moving a muscle. He’s dressed in a black button-down, the tempting line of his throat clear even at this distance, and he looks so good Dean thinks he might do something incredibly stupid like run over there and beg for anything Cas is willing to give him.

He’s half out of his seat, more than half out of his mind, when a pretty brunette slides into the seat across from Cas, her face bright with animation as she starts talking.

Dean lands back in his chair with a thump nowhere as heavy as his heart currently feels. What did he expect? He pushed Cas away, and now he’s doing exactly what Dean was supposed to be preparing him for: seeing other people. It’s just Dean’s shitty luck that he would be doing it at the exact same time and place Dean happens to be. 

He tears his gaze away, trying to focus on the story Lisa is telling about a friend’s adventures in online dating, but he keeps sneaking glances back over his shoulder to where Cas is sitting. He isn’t looking at Dean anymore, all his attention focused on the brunette, and Dean feels his heart sink lower and lower in his chest. 

Thank god he and Lisa have almost finished their dessert. He hates the thought of cutting her special night short, but he doesn’t know how much longer he can sit here, knowing Cas is just a few feet away but miles beyond his reach. 

Lisa puts down her fork with a sigh of satisfaction, then pulls her phone out of her purse to check the time. “I’m sorry,” she says, and she sounds like she means it. “I can’t entirely turn off mom mode. I should be getting home.”

“Of course.” Trying not to let his relief show, Dean signals for the bill. “Do you need a ride home?”

“No, I drove.” Lisa smiles and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Bit of a contrast, the minivan and this outfit, but it does what I need it to do.”

“Complexity is sexy,” Dean tells her, and she laughs again. There’s a hint of sadness in her dark eyes, though, and Dean knows she’s preparing herself to let go of the evening. It’s enough to distract her so that he can snatch the bill away, ignoring her protests-- for all his other failings, John Winchester left all three of his kids generous settlements in his will-- and slide his credit card over to their server. 

“My treat,” he insists. The bill settled, he holds out his hand to help her to her feet. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

He almost makes it to the door, his hand once again on the small of Lisa’s back, before he looks back. Cas is watching him, his expression unreadable. Dean stares at him, chest tight, and wishes he were brave enough to go over and say something. An apology, an explanation, anything. But he isn’t going to impose himself on Cas, especially now that it looks like he’s moving on with his life. 

So Dean just holds Cas’ gaze and nods, a brief dip of his head. An acknowledgment, and maybe a goodbye. Then, with a deep inhale, he turns and leaves the restaurant. 

He’s quiet as he walks Lisa to her car. She tilts her head to the side as she stops besides it, eyes dark in the glow of the streetlight. “You okay?” she asks.

For a second, Dean considers blurting it all out-- how he agreed to see Cas again, how he kept denying his own growing feelings, how he wishes desperately they could have dated like regular people and just seen where they ended up. Lisa doesn’t need to hear that crap, though. That’s not what she signed up for, and Dean is done playing by anything other than the rules. 

“I’m good,” he says. “But more importantly, how are you?”

“Good,” she echoes. A small smile hovers around her lips. “Really good, actually. Thank you for this, Dean. Not just for dinner, but for--” She shrugs. “Everything.”

“You’re welcome,” Dean says, and means it. “Get home safe. And when you do decide to put yourself back out there, wear that dress.”

Lisa laughs and leans in to press a quick, light kiss to his cheek. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“Night.” Jamming his hands in his pockets, Dean waits until her van has pulled away and turned the corner before heading to the Impala, slumping behind the wheel and breathing in the familiar scent of her interior.

He doesn’t want to go home, but he knows if he stays here, he’s going to do something reckless like march back into that restaurant and spill his feelings all over Cas. Pulling out his phone, he sends a quick text to Sam and waits impatiently for a reply.

When it comes through, Dean relaxes, then turns the keys in the ignition, pointing the car towards his brother’s apartment and the waiting gaze of the one person who can always see through his bullshit.

***

“You look terrible,” Sam informs him as he pulls open the door to his apartment.

Scowling, Dean pushes past him and throws himself onto the couch. “Thanks a lot.”

“No, I just mean--” Sam shakes his head, stopping in the kitchen to grab two beers before he joins Dean in the living room. “What’s going on?”

Dean takes the beer, popping off the cap and taking a long swallow before answering. “I fucked up,” he says eventually. 

“Okay.” To his credit, Sam doesn’t comment on Dean’s lack of details. “Can you fix it?”

“I don’t know,” Dean sighs. He leans forward, burying his head in his hands, so his voice is muffled when he says, “It’s about Cas.”

“Cas?” Sam repeats. “The guy from the aquarium? Dean, that was weeks ago.”

Dean looks up, grimacing. “Yeah. Well. About that--”

Sam’s eyes widen, and he nearly chokes on his own beer. “You’ve been seeing him again?” And then, more hurt than surprised, “And you didn’t tell me?”

“I’m sorry.” Dean shrugs, guilty. “I knew you wouldn’t--”

“Wouldn’t approve?” Sam finishes, arching one eyebrow. “Yeah, Dean, and it looks like I would have been right.” He heaves a deep breath and waves a hand in the air. “But since it’s too late for that, I think you’d better start explaining.”

Dean sits up straight, bracing himself, and launches into the whole messy story. How he and Cas started talking again, how Cas asked to see him, how Dean said yes. How they kissed at the end of their bowling date-- Sam’s face turning even more sour at that detail-- and how Dean knew in that moment that he was starting to fall for Cas. How he ignored that knowledge, and went out with him again anyway. How Cas called him his boyfriend, and how there’s been nothing between them but silence since then. 

Until tonight.

When he finishes, Sam just stares at him for a long moment, expression unreadable. Finally, he says, “You deserve to be happy, Dean.”

Dean blinks. “What?” Of all the answers he thought Sam might give, that wasn’t one of them. “I was expecting more of an “I told you so” or “yeah, you fucked up,” not--”

“I know.” Sam gives him a crooked smile. “I could say those things too, if you want.”

“I’m good,” Dean replies swiftly. “I just don’t understand.”

Sam settles back against the couch, gesturing to Dean to do the same. “Okay, so. Let me put this as bluntly as possible: you’ve gone on sabotaging your own chances for happiness long enough. This dating thing that you do, it needs to end.”

Dean shakes his head. They’ve had this argument before. Sam used to be more supportive, used to at least pretend to understand why he needed to do things this way, but lately, he’s been more and more vocal about it being a bad idea. “This isn’t anything I haven’t heard before, Sammy.”

“Will you actually listen to me for once?” Sam says sharply. “You’re the one who wanted to talk.”

It’s enough to make Dean wince. “Okay, okay,” he mutters. “Fine.”

Sam gives him a stern look, then continues. “When you first started this, I thought, okay, this is something he needs to do. But Dean, you and Cassie broke up--”

“Hey.” Dean holds up a warning hand. “Don’t--”

Ignoring him completely, Sam barrels on. “What was it, seven years ago? I know it hurt like hell when she chose her career over you, Dean, and that’s why I was willing to go along with this at first.”

Dean breathes out slowly, trying to lessen the pain in his chest at the reminder of Cassie. The first person he ever loved. But she wasn’t willing to stay in Kansas for Dean, not when Los Angeles offered so many more opportunities.

Now that he’s older, Dean can’t blame her for it. He’s seen some of her articles in big papers and magazines, and he always smiles when he does. Sometimes he thinks about sending her an e-mail, just to wish her well. But most of the time, he buries all his memories of her as deep inside as he can, and tries to pretend she never broke his heart into a thousand pieces.

“It wasn’t just Cassie, though, was it?” Sam asks, voice gentler now.

Dean bites his lip. “No,” he says quietly. 

It was also Aaron, the first guy Dean ever fooled around with. He was twenty years old and as lovestruck as he was horny, and the two got all mixed up inside him. Aaron wasn’t looking for anything serious, and he was as nice about as he could be, but it still stung to hear it. 

It was also Lydia, who seemed quite happy to spend all her nights with Dean but dropped him like a bad habit the minute she decided she wanted to have a kid. Just not with him. She wasn’t nearly as nice about it as Aaron had been, and Dean winces at the memory of his complete shock when she told him she didn’t think he was good father material. 

“I’m no good for anything long-term,” Dean says, trying to keep his voice light. “That point has been driven home loud and clear.”

“That’s bullshit,” Sam says. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

Dean looks away. He doesn’t want to see the pity on Sam’s face if he answers honestly.

The silence stretches on until Sam lets out a deep breath and says, “Okay. Let me ask you something else.”

Glancing up, Dean sees something flash through his brother’s eyes, a shadow of his own pain. It’s enough to draw his attention, and he turns his face fully to Sam as he asks, “Do you think maybe this has something to do with Dad?”

“What?” Dean reels back. “Why the fuck would it have anything to do with Dad?”

“Just hear me out, okay?” Sam holds up his hands in a calming gesture, and Dean subsides, still grumbling under his breath. This isn’t about unresolved daddy issues, for Christ’s sake, what is Sam even thinking--

“It’s something I’ve been talking about a lot, in therapy,” Sam says softly.

Well, shit. Dean swallows roughly, reaching out to lay a steadying hand on his brother’s shoulder. “About Dad?”

“Yeah.” Sam smiles, but it’s twisted. “Something we’ve been working on is the way I tend to push myself too hard, like I have something to prove. You know how it was, after he first left, when we didn’t know what to talk about other than report cards and basketball scores and what colleges we got into.”

Dean wasn’t doing much talking to their father at all in those first years, but he nods anyway. 

“And then as Adam grew up and turned out to be this wonder kid, I kept trying to be better, like if I didn’t have all these successes to share with Dad, he wouldn’t love me anymore. Because he had a newer, better kid now.”

“Hey.” Dean’s hand tightens on Sam’s shoulder. “You know that isn’t true. For all he did wrong, Dad loved us.”

“I know.” Sam sighs, pushing his hair away from his face. “But sometimes these things can influence us in ways we don’t expect. I never realized it until Dr. Moseley and I talked it through. So I’m asking you to think about it too.”

Dean isn’t about to throw Sam’s vulnerability back in his face, so he nods, throat tight, and lets himself think. About the way he felt so carelessly tossed aside when their dad left, about the way his bitterness grew every time he heard mention of John’s new family.

“It’s like we were a stepping-stone family,” he says quietly. “Like we were a stop along the way to his real happiness.”

Sam smiles gently at him. “And what does that sound like?”

It takes a second to register, and when it does, Dean starts to laugh.

“Jesus Christ,” he manages. “How did I never see it before? You’re a goddamn genius, Sam.”

“No.” Sam shakes his head, his grin widening. “I just have a good therapist. But you get it now, right?”

It’s the exact same thing Dean has been offering his dates. A primer for a real relationship, a test run for something serious. He’s much more upfront about it, of course, but it’s the same thing regardless. 

“You’ve just never given yourself the same chance,” Sam continues. “You went through bad break-ups, just like most of the people you see. You’ve been so busy trying to help them out and keep yourself safe in the meantime that you’ve never moved on to the next part of it. But you can’t control everything, Dean, and this thing with Cas just proves it.”

“Yeah.” Dean shakes his head, his laughter subsiding. “It’s too late, though. He did exactly what I wanted him to do. He moved on.”

“And that sucks. I’m sorry about that, Dean.” Sam nudges Dean’s forgotten beer towards him, and Dean automatically raises it to his lips. “My point still stands, though. This framework you built to prevent yourself from getting hurt obviously let you down. So why keep it up at all anymore?”

Dean opens his mouth, then closes it with a sharp click. “I’m helping people,” he protests weakly. 

“Sure.” Sam shrugs. “I don’t doubt that. But I think the fine citizens of Kansas City will be just fine without the special services of Dean Winchester, emotional hooker.”

Dean punches his brother in the arm, though there’s no real force behind it. “I am not a hooker.”

Grinning, Sam pushes his hand aside. “I know. It’s just fun to wind you up.”

“You’re the worst,” Dean mutters. He lets out a deep breath and drains the last of his beer, setting the bottle down with a satisfying thunk. “And also the best.”

“I know,” Sam says again. “Feel any better?”

Dean considers it for a minute. He still fucked up his chance at ever being with Cas, but in spite of that--

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Thanks, Sam.”

“You’re welcome.” Sam pats him roughly on the back, then gets to his feet, yawning. He walks into the kitchen and comes back holding a plain business card. “I’m glad you can talk to me,” he says quietly. “But sometimes it can really help to talk to someone else.”

Dean looks down at the card. Dr. Missouri Moseley, it says. Sam’s therapist. He swallows roughly, and looks up to meet Sam’s eyes as he nods. “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I’m asking.” Reaching out, Sam pulls him into a hug, and Dean doesn’t hesitate to sink against him. 

“Now get out of here,” Sam says as he draws back. “I’ve got to be at the clinic at eight tomorrow.”

Dean throws him a salute. “The animal citizens of the city appreciate your service.”

Rolling his eyes, Sam gestures to the door. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“Night, Sam.” With one last wave, Dean leaves his brother’s apartment, feeling about a thousand times lighter than he did when he walked in.

Once he gets home, he crawls into bed with his phone, letting out a deep breath as he looks down at the various dating apps he has installed. He deletes all the smaller ones, the ones he never uses anymore, without further thought. It’s only when he gets to the last one that he hesitates.

If he does this, he has no way of contacting Cas. And Cas has no way of contacting him. There’s a chance they could run into each other again, like they did tonight, but Dean can’t count on it.

His fingers hover over the button, unsure. He could just change the description in his profile, leave the account open, maybe start talking to people in earnest. But for all his soul-searching tonight, he knows he isn’t ready for that. He’s still hung up on Cas, and Cas has moved on.

Whoever that girl was tonight, Dean hopes she treats him the way he deserves. 

He hits the delete button and closes his eyes, a whispered goodbye echoing softly through his room.


	9. Chapter 9

Cas crosses his arms over his chest, adopting a stern expression. The room goes quiet, his audience wide-eyed, and he lets them wait a minute longer before he breaks into a grin.

“You all did wonderfully tonight,” he tells the interns. “I’m so proud of each and every one of you.”

Their sighs of relief are quickly drowned out in cheers. Cas exchanges a smile with Hannah, who shakes her head at his tactics but joins in the applause anyway.

The after-hours event was a smashing success, far beyond Cas’ expectations. All of the interns worked incredibly hard to set up the space and co-operated beautifully with the local college to ensure a streamlined experience for their guests. 

Garth was even on time, miracle of miracles.

“Now get out of here,” he tells them, making a shooing motion with one hand. “Go sleep, or find somewhere else to burn off all your adrenaline.”

The interns file out the door, chattering and joking, waving their goodbyes as they go. Once they’ve left, Cas turns to Hannah, his smile sliding off his face. “It’s going to be hard to choose this year.”

“I know.” She sighs, biting her lower lip. “But with Layla going on medical leave, we have two part-time positions we wouldn’t normally have. That helps.”

“True,” Cas concedes. He lifts a hand to his mouth to cover a yawn. “Well, we don’t have to decide tonight.”

“Thank god for that,” Hannah says fervently. “We’ll discuss it with Joshua tomorrow. He always has a different perspective.”

Cas nods, then follows Hannah out of the classroom and into the office to grab their things before leaving the building. They nod goodnight to the security guards roaming the halls and emerge into the late-summer night. Cas breathes in deeply, his own adrenaline levels slowly settling. His body is tired from the long night running around the aquarium, ensuring everything was going smoothly, but his mind is wide-awake.

“Can I tempt you with a milkshake?” he asks Hannah. “My treat.”

“That’s sweet, but I should be getting home.” Hannah waves to the nearly-empty parking lot. “But why don’t I drop you off?”

Cas agrees gratefully, and they spend the drive going over their options for permanent positions for the interns. Nothing is resolved by the time Hannah drops Cas off at Lou’s Diner, but he feels better regardless. “Get home safe,” he says as he slides out of the car. “See you tomorrow.”

Hannah waves as she drives away, and Cas pulls open the door to the diner, the scent of french fries and something sweet prompting an immediate rumbling from his stomach. It’s surprisingly busy for a Thursday night, but he manages to find a small table near the kitchen and eagerly takes a seat.

It isn’t until he’s placed his order that he begins to think it might have been a bad idea, coming here. After all, the last time he was here, it was with Dean.

The after-hours event has been an excellent distraction, these past few weeks, giving Cas something to focus on rather than his confused feelings about Dean and how they left things. Now that it’s over, he finds himself wanting to tell Dean about it, to describe the way Garth charmed guests with his aquatic animal puppet show or the way Max and Alicia put their playful sibling rivalry on hold to lead the tours with perfect poise. Or how he counted at least twenty people making the same “I found Nemo!” joke Dean had when they spotted a clownfish in the tank. 

This is the place he and Dean agreed to extend their liaison. Even now, knowing how it turned out, Cas doesn’t regret it. He’s grateful for every minute he spent in Dean’s company, cherishing those memories even more now that he knows there won’t be any more to be made. 

His server returns with his cheeseburger and chocolate milkshake, and Cas thanks her earnestly. She looks up at the jingle of the bell above the door, and Cas follows her gaze, only to see a familiar figure walk through the door.

Surely, it’s his long night playing tricks on his mind. There’s no way Dean just walked into the diner as though summoned from Cas’ melancholy thoughts. He certainly looks real, though, bow-legs and broad shoulders and that battered leather jacket. 

All of it topped off with those startling green eyes, which are pointed directly at Cas.

Cas tries to smile, but it probably comes off as more of a grimace. Dean is alone, which is a relief. It had been unpleasant, to say the least, seeing him with that striking dark-haired woman the other night. Even though rationally he knew it was just another one of Dean’s dates, it was hard to watch him smile and laugh and lean in close to her across the table. Worst of all, though, was the cool nod Dean had given him as he left, his hand placed proprietarily on her back. The same way he had touched Cas not so long ago.

Dean freezes in place, staring at Cas. He looks wildly uncomfortable, and Cas regrets making eye contact to begin with. But then Dean strides toward him, determined, and all Cas can think about is how much he wants him, no matter the way. 

“Hey,” Dean says, coming to a stop beside Cas’ table. “We’ve got to stop running into each other like this.”

Cas keeps his smile pasted on. “Kansas City is turning out to be much smaller than I realized,” he replies. “Please, will you--” He waves a hand to indicate the empty seat across from him.

Dean hesitates, but only briefly, before dropping into the chair with an ease that makes Cas’ mouth go dry. “How are you?” Dean asks, eyes flicking up to meet Cas’ before dropping back to the surface of the table.

“I’m well, thank you.” Cas winces at his formal tone, but maybe it’s for the best. Not that arbitrary boundaries have done them much good to this point. “Just stopped in on my way home from work.”

Frowning, Dean looks up at the clock on the wall. “Bit late, isn’t it?”

Cas’ smile is a bit more genuine this time. “We had a special event, so we were open after-hours. It went very well, so I thought a celebratory milkshake might be in order.”

“Nice.” Dean meets his eyes, and there’s a warmth there that sends a thrill down Cas’ spine. It fades, though, the longer he looks at Cas. “And you didn’t want to celebrate with your, uh--” He hesitates, looking away. “Girlfriend?”

“What?” Cas pauses with his burger raised halfway to his lips, then sets it down slowly. “I don’t--”

“It’s okay, Cas,” Dean says gently. “She’s cute, by the way.”

Cas continues to stare at him, perplexed. “I have no idea what-- or who-- you’re talking about.” 

A faint line appears between Dean’s brows. “The brunette? From the restaurant the other night?”

Cas can’t help himself-- he lets out a bark of incredulous laughter. “Hael?”

“Sure.” Dean shrugs, clearly uneasy, like he’s starting to realize he might have made an incorrect assumption. “She’s not--”

“No.” Cas holds up his hands, shaking his head violently. “God, no. Hael is Balthazar’s sister. I’ve known her since we were kids.”

“Oh.” Dean’s eyes widen, then drop back to the table, a tinge of pink spreading over his face. “I thought--”

“You thought I was on a date.” Cas replays the scene in his mind, the way Dean stared at him across the restaurant, neither of them smiling. That nod as he left-- a congratulations? A goodbye? Something like hope, faint and fickle, sparks in his chest. 

“So--” Dean drags his eyes back up to Cas’, but won’t hold his gaze. “You weren’t?”

“No,” Cas says firmly. 

“Oh.” Dean coughs. “That’s, uh, good. I mean--”

Cas studies him carefully: the tense set of his shoulders, the way he keeps looking at Cas and then immediately looking away as if he’s afraid he’ll reveal something meant to stay secret, the way his plush lower lip is pulled between his teeth with nerves or anticipation.

If there’s one thing Cas has never lost confidence in, it’s his own intelligence. His ability to fit the pieces together until the picture is clear. 

There’s a tiny voice inside his head saying he must be wrong, that Dean would never want him that way-- that all his smiles and compliments were strategic, that their one kiss was proof of physical attraction but nothing more. That Cas-- boring, dependable, Cas-- could never be the one to make him break his rules about dating. 

But he already did. The longer he looks at Dean now, the more he lets himself adjust his memories of that night at the restaurant in light of this new information, the more that voice fades. In spite of his own insecurities, he knows: there’s something solid here, and he would be a fool to let it slip through his fingers. 

“Is it?” he asks quietly. “I would have thought it would be a blow to your professional reputation. Shouldn’t you want me to be dating again?”

Dean stares at him, wide-eyed, and Cas smiles as gently as he can. “The woman you were with. That was one of your dates, right? Not a real one?”

“I told you before,” Dean mutters. “Different kinds of real.” He lets out a deep breath and runs his hand through his hair. “But yeah. We’re not going to be seeing each other again, if that’s what you mean.”

Cas could push further, but he wants to see if Dean will get there on his own. He needs confirmation that they’re equals in this, that it isn’t just his own lonely longing colouring his memories, shifting his perceptions of everything that’s happened between them.

“Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again either,” Dean admits, leaning back in his chair. “It’s good, though. That we got this chance.” His smile is crooked, tentative, breathtaking. “It’s really good to see you, Cas.”

“You too.” Cas exhales quietly, folding his hands on the table in front of him. “I missed you.”

Dean draws in a sharp breath, sitting up straight again. “You did?”

Cas nods. Dean narrows his eyes and examines him, suspicion and hope warring in his expression. “You missed me, or you missed the way it felt when we were together?”

“Both,” Cas answers. He’s asked himself the same question over the past few weeks, wondering if it was just the attention he found himself craving, the time spent with someone else. It didn’t take him long to come to the conclusion that it was Dean he was longing for. 

“Good.” Dean smiles again, his whole face lighting up. “God, I missed you too, Cas.”

It isn’t quite the declaration of feeling Cas might have dreamed of, but it’s enough to break the tension, and Cas feels an answering smile spread across his own face. 

Dean reaches out, and for an instant Cas thinks he’s going to take his hand, but instead, he snags a few fries from Cas’ plate, eyes dancing as he stuffs them into his mouth.

Cas’ mouth drops open, a protest springing to his lips, but only laughter emerges. He sputters with amusement as Dean grins at him, unrepentant. “Glad to see you’re feeling more comfortable,” Cas comments. “Did you want to order something, or just continue to help yourself to mine?”

“Depends.” Dean’s grin fades, though his eyes remain warm. “How long are we planning on staying?”

There are a thousand other question buried beneath that one, and Cas knows it. He tilts his head to the side, considering, then raises a hand to flag down their server. “I believe my friend would like to get something as well.”

Dean laughs shortly, then beams up at their server and requests a strawberry shake. After she’s gone, his expression turns serious. “I guess we need to talk.”

“It’s probably a good idea,” Cas agrees. He takes a sip of his own milkshake, now almost entirely melted, and wonders where to even begin.

He can practically hear Balthazar’s arch voice in his mind: _begin at the beginning, darling_. The beginning-- technically, that would be the first time he reached out to Dean. He remembers that night, how quickly it all happened, how stunned he was to find himself agreeing to this scheme.

He also remembers the question he’d asked Balthazar then, the one he planned to ask Dean on their date and never did.

Taking a deep breath, Cas looks across the table and meets Dean’s eyes. “Before anything else,” he says, “I’d like to ask you a question.”

There’s a flash of hesitance behind Dean’s eyes, but he nods. “Sure.”

“This dating thing you do-- the mission to restore confidence, to get people ready for somebody else--” Cas lifts his hands in front of himself-- “why?”

It’s clear Dean wasn’t expecting the question. He blinks, then frowns. Cas waits patiently, heart pounding in his chest. It might seem unfair, to ask Dean something so pointed and direct, but they’ve been on uneven footing since they started this thing between them. Dean knows Cas’ story, knows how he ended up here, and Cas--

Cas has no idea what drives Dean to do what he does.

After a long pause, Dean sighs. “I’ve been asking myself that a lot lately,” he says quietly. He swallows roughly, a distracting movement, but Cas keeps his gaze locked on Dean’s. “It’s a long story in some ways, and in others, it’s the shortest fucking chapter in the book.” He gives Cas a wry smile as he shrugs. “I’ve been-- what is it I wrote in that stupid profile? Kicked in the teeth one too many times?”

Cas’ heart clenches painfully in his chest. He should have known. When he’d first read Dean’s profile, he’d wondered at the nerve of him, the brashness and the boldness, but he’d quickly realized that there was real compassion under his bravado. The kind of compassion that could only come from shared experience. 

“I’m sorry.” This time, he’s the one to reach out, to brush his fingertips over Dean’s wrist. Dean meets his eyes and shrugs again, but doesn’t pull away from the contact.

“I’ll spare you all the gory details, but let’s just say, it was enough to make me think some pretty shitty things about myself. That I was only good for casual flings, that I was never going to be anyone’s priority.” His voice goes soft. “That I was just a stop along the way to something more.”

Cas frowns. “But isn’t that--”

“Exactly how I present myself?” Dean finishes. “Yeah. I thought to myself, why not embrace it? If that’s what I’m good for, why don’t I just accept it, and put it to use helping people who need that?”

It all makes a terrible amount of sense. Cas shakes his head, not in disbelief but in wonder. “You took your pain and used it to help others. Dean, that’s remarkable.” He pauses, unsure how his words will be received, but then figures he may as well attempt to give back some of what Dean has given him. “In addition to being unfairly good-looking, you’re also charming, kind, endearingly goofy, and fiercely protective. Anyone who ever made you feel otherwise deserves to be thrown into a shark tank.”

Dean sputters with laughter. “Don’t go putting me on some sort of pedestal,” he says. “Yeah, I had good intentions. I did want to help people, and I really think I have. But maybe I’ve been hiding in it, too. Or so my brother tells me.”

“Sam seems like a very smart man.” Cas shifts his hand so his palm rests on the back of Dean’s hand, warm and strong under his touch. “Thank you for telling me.”

Dean flips his hand over so that they’re palm to palm and gives Cas a crooked smile. “That’s the quick version of it, anyway. There’s a bunch of other shit, some unresolved stuff with my dad leaving.” He tightens his grip on Cas’ hand. “I know it’s a lot of baggage. But I’m going to work on it.”

“That’s all I could ask,” Cas says gently. “And besides, who doesn’t have baggage? You’re already familiar with all of mine.”

“Yeah.” At that, Dean frowns. “Can I ask you something now?”

“That only seems fair.” Cas waits as their server deposits Dean’s milkshake in front of them and Dean takes his first sip, watching Cas over the top of the glass. 

“Okay.” Dean licks his lips, chasing away a drop of pink liquid, and Cas does his best to ignore the stirring in his body that action provokes. “That night, at trivia--”

Cas winces at the memory. “Yes?”

“Is that what you want?” Dean’s eyes are steady on his. “For me to be your--” he pauses, giving the word even more significance-- “boyfriend?”

Looking down, Cas stirs the last of his milkshake with his straw. In some ways, it’s the simplest question in the world, and in others, it’s more complicated than he can possibly wrap his head around. 

“Yes,” he says when he finally looks up. “I mean, I want us to try.” He attempts a smile, but his heart is racing so quickly he thinks it might come out as more of a spasm. “I want to go on a date with you. A normal one. I want to see where it goes. And then do it again, and again, so the next time I call you my boyfriend, it’s not an accident.”

“And you think you’re ready for that?” Dean asks gently. “I’m not trying to be condescending, I just--”

“You don’t want anyone to get hurt?” Cas finishes, raising one eyebrow. “That’s what we said the last time we were here, wasn’t it?”

Dean dips his head in acknowledgment. “Okay, fair.”

“But to answer your question, I honestly don’t know.” Cas pulls his hand away from Dean’s to lift it in a gesture of uncertainty. “The only thing I know is how I feel about you, and I’m praying that’s enough.”

Dean smiles even as his cheeks burn pink. “It’s gotta be, doesn’t it?” He takes a deep breath, shaking his head. “I used to think I could control it. That by dating the way I did, I could stop myself from wanting more from anyone, and save myself the pain.” He smiles, a slow, warm, curve of his lips that sends a shiver down Cas’ spine. “But even after that first date with you, and then that day at the aquarium, I think I knew I wanted more. That’s why I agreed to see you again.”

Cas smiles back at him. “Well, even if you hadn’t, it seems likely we would have run into each other again, considering the way things have turned out.”

Laughing, Dean reaches out for his hand, and Cas meets him halfway. “Probably,” Dean agrees. “But that’s not my point. My point is, we can’t control the way we feel, no matter how damn hard we might try. The only thing we can control is what we do about it.”

“So.” Cas twines his fingers around Dean’s, marvelling at how perfectly their hands match. “What do you want to do about it?”

“I want to go out with you,” Dean answers promptly. “Again. Or for the first time, depending on how you look at it.”

“I would never demean our earlier dates by discounting them,” Cas says gravely. “Especially the bowling alley.” 

Dean narrows his eyes at him. “Are you saying that because it was fun and because we kissed at the end, or because you absolutely destroyed me?”

Cas lifts one shoulder and adopts his most innocent expression. “Can’t it be both?”

“Asshole.” Laughing, Dean pulls their joined hands towards himself and presses a kiss to the back of Cas’ hand. The warmth of it travels the length of Cas’ arm to settle sweetly in his chest, and he grins as Dean lowers their hands but doesn’t let go.

“For the sake of my pride, can we pick somewhere non-competitive this time?” Dean asks. 

Cas considers it for a moment, an idea starting to take shape in his mind. It would require a bit of planning, a few strings pulled, but if it all worked out--

“Let me take care of it,” he says. 

“Okay.” Dean smiles, his face so full of trust and open affection that Cas can’t help smiling back. “I look forward to the Cas--” A strange expression crosses his face, and he laughs. “I don’t even remember your last name.”

Cas frowns, replaying all their conversations to this point. He faintly remembers introducing himself to Sam at the aquarium, but he and Dean never made a point of such formalities. “Novak,” he says. “Castiel Novak, to be precise.”

“Nice to meet you, Cas Novak.” Dean grins at him. “I’m Dean Winchester.”

“We really have done this in a roundabout sort of way, haven’t we?” Cas laughs.

“Maybe.” Dean shrugs, still grinning. “But if this is where we ended up, I’d say it was worth it.”

“Me too.” Cas looks up at the clock on the diner wall and grimaces. “I hate to cut this short, but I do have to work tomorrow morning.”

“So do I.” Dean drains the last of his milkshake with a slurping noise that has no right to be as endearing as it is, then lifts his hand to signal their server. “Do I get to know when this date of ours is?”

Cas opens his mouth to answer before another realization strikes. He smothers a laugh and says, “I would text you, but I don’t even have your number.”

“Whose dumb idea was that?” Dean says, shoulders shaking with laughter. “Give me your phone.”

Cas passes it over, and a few seconds later, Dean returns it with his number programmed in. “There,” he says. “Now you can text me whenever you want.”

“And _whatever_ I want?” Cas asks, purposely letting his voice go low and dark. 

Dean freezes, eyes flaring wide with surprise, and if Cas isn’t mistaken, also with desire. “Whatever you want,” he murmurs. “After all, we’re dating now, right?”

“Right,” Cas agrees. He smoothly plucks the bill from their server’s hands before Dean can and shoots him a triumphant grin. “And in that spirit, this one’s on me.”

Dean protests, but Cas ignores him. Once the bill is settled, he stands to leave, smiling to himself as Dean continues to pout. “It’s a fine line between being confident and being a bully, you know,” Dean remarks as he passes through the door Cas holds open for him. “Am I going to regret all the work I did with you?”

Cas laughs. The late summer air is warm, despite the time, and Dean’s eyes are shining in the glow of the streetlights. He takes a step closer and watches the way those eyes immediately drop to his lips. “No,” Cas murmurs, reaching out to run his thumb over the sharp line of Dean’s cheekbone. “I don’t think you will.”

He leans in to press their lips together, and judging by the look of dazed happiness on Dean’s face when he finally pulls away, there are no regrets from either of them.


	10. Chapter 10

Checking his reflection one last time, Dean draws in a deep breath as he grabs his keys and wallet. He thought he was nervous before his date with Lisa, but it’s nothing compared to how he feels now. There’s a flutter in his chest as he makes his way down the stairs and out to the Impala, running his fingers down the side of his light grey suit jacket. 

He still doesn’t know exactly where they’re going. All Cas told him was to dress up and to pick him up at seven-thirty. Dean really hopes he hasn’t overdone it in his suit, with a crisp white shirt and narrow black tie underneath, his hair styled with a bit more effort than usual. Even if he has-- well, hopefully Cas will appreciate his efforts.

The thought of Cas brings a smile to his face despite his nerves. They’ve been texting nonstop for the past week, the messages ranging from commentary on their days to questions about things like favourite books or movies. Dean hasn’t spent so much time on his phone since he first got one.

Of course, it’s safely stowed away as he makes the short drive to Cas’ building. Dean pulls up outside, expecting to go in and meet him, but the door opens as he puts the car in park. Squinting, he can just make out Cas’ shadowy figure, but there’s someone else with him.

Frowning, Dean steps out of the car. His breath catches in his throat as Cas approaches, dressed in a sharp blue suit with a plain white shirt underneath, the open collar revealing a tantalizing stretch of tanned skin. He swallows roughly, meeting Cas’ eyes, and is relieved to see a trace of the same nervousness there.

He isn’t quite sure what to say, but he’s spared the pressure as the other person, forgotten in Dean’s immediate appraisal of Cas, clears their throat. “Well, this is as sweet as baby animals in springtime,” a droll voice says.

Blinking, Dean looks over at the speaker. He’s tall and lean, with sandy hair graying slightly at the temples, and he doesn’t bother to disguise the assessment in his gaze as he stares at Dean. “Balthazar,” he says, stretching out one hand. “Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”

“Yeah.” His confusion clearing, Dean shakes his hand firmly, noting Cas’ look of embarrassment out of the corner of his eye. “What are you, our chaperone?”

“Heavens no.” Balthazar shudders. “I would never dream of intruding on Cas’ chances of a night of revelry.” He winks, but his eyes are fond as he smiles at Cas over his shoulder. “I just thought, now that it seems you two have finally stopped this ridiculous charade, that we should meet.”

“Actually, he said he wanted to see if you were as good-looking in person as you were in your profile,” Cas interjects. 

Dean bites back a laugh as Balthazar makes a noise of protest. Raising one eyebrow, he asks, “So? Am I?”

“Quite so,” Balthazar declares. “And from what I’ve heard, you’ve been a tremendous help to Cas over the past few weeks.” He waves his hand in the air with the look of a benevolent ruler granting a favour to a pleading commoner. “Go forth and frolic, my young friends.”

Dean looks to Cas for help, but Cas is too busy laughing to himself to reply. “Uh, thanks?” Dean says. Reaching out, he takes Cas by the elbow and steers him towards the car as Balthazar yells after them, “If you hurt him, I know a thousand remote locations around the globe where your body will never be found!”

Flinching, Dean lifts a hand in acknowledgment as he opens the car door for Cas, then slides into the driver’s seat. He drums his fingers against the steering wheel for a moment, sneaking appreciative glances at Cas out of the corner of his eye. He doesn’t know why it’s suddenly so hard to tell him how damn gorgeous he looks. It’s not like it would be the first time.

Fortunately, Cas doesn’t seem to have the same problem. “You look very handsome,” he says, eyes slowly tracking down Dean’s body. 

Exhaling loudly, Dean smiles. “Thanks. So do you. But tell me, where exactly are we going, all dressed up like this?”

Cas settles back in his seat with a small smile. “The aquarium.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “Aren’t they closed?”

“Just drive,” Cas instructs him, and Dean isn’t about to argue with that tone. 

“Sorry about Balthazar,” Cas says a minute later, glancing over with a wry smile. “He can be-- protective, to say the least.”

“No worries.” Dean shrugs philosophically. “It’s good to know you’ve got someone watching your back, even if he is making pointed threats towards me.”

Cas laughs, tipping his head back against the seat and exposing even more of the long line of his throat. Dean wants to kiss him. Badly. But there will be time for that later, or so he hopes.

“That was nothing,” Cas informs him. “He’s quite well-disposed towards you, actually, after everything I’ve told him.”

“Everything?” Dean repeats warily. Realistically, it makes sense for Cas to have talked to Balthzar about him, the same way Dean talked to Sam about Cas, but it still sets alarm bells ringing in his head as he replays all the possible things they could have discussed. 

“Don’t worry.” Reaching out, Cas takes hold of Dean’s free hand where it rests in the space between them. “I mostly had good things to say.”

“Mostly?” Dean echoes. Cas’ shoulders shake with silent laughter, and he sends Dean an apologetic look as he shrugs. 

Dean lets out a laugh of his own, nodding. “Okay, fair. There were things I could have handled better.”

“And you could say the same about me.” Cas squeezes Dean’s hand as they approach the turn for the aquarium. “But we’re here, and right now, that’s all I care about.”

The honesty in that statement leaves a warm feeling in Dean’s chest, and he smiles as he navigates the last few turns into the aquarium’s parking lot. It’s almost entirely full, and he glances over at Cas in confusion as an attendant directs them towards the back of the lot. “Okay, spill. What’s going on?”

Cas’ grin is satisfied to the point of smugness. “I pulled a few strings and got us tickets for the fundraising gala tonight. Normally, I would be working, but Hannah owed me a favour for covering her shift, and voila.” He gestures to the crowd of well-dressed people crossing the parking lot towards the aquarium entrance. “I get to enjoy a night off, and you get the chance to show off those dancing skills you bragged about.”

Dean lets out a low whistle as he guides the Impala into a parking spot. “Very nice,” he says. “It’s not going to be weird, all your co-workers seeing you here on a date?”

“Maybe.” Cas shrugs, but doesn’t look too concerned. “I choose to believe they’ll be happy for me. And the interns will probably just be glad I’m not there to breathe down their necks, though a few of the more nervous ones might worry I’m doing this as an elaborate experiment to test them from the perspective of a guest.”

“I guess I’ll just have to keep you too occupied to notice everything they’re doing wrong,” Dean says with a laugh. “Come on, handsome. Let’s give them something to talk about.”

He climbs out of the car and offers Cas his arm. Cas takes a deep breath, meets his gaze with determination, and places his arm in Dean’s before they stride across the parking lot and into the aquarium.

It’s beautifully decorated for the event, garlands of blue and silver strung from the lofty ceilings in the atrium. A figure on stilts wanders through the room, dressed as a jellyfish with trailing fabric tentacles, and projections of fish dance across the curving walls. Soft whispers of awe echo through the room, giving voice to Dean’s growing wonder as he takes it all in.

Cas watches him with an indulgent smile. “Magnificent, isn’t it?”

“It really is.” Dean slides his hand down Cas’ arm and finds his hand, their fingers intertwining with ease. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Still smiling, Cas pulls him towards the line to enter, winking at the young woman who scans their tickets. She gives Dean a frank look of appraisal, and Cas a not-at-all-subtle nod of approval as she waves them through.

Cas steers them towards the bar and secures them flutes of champagne, passing one over to Dean with a gracious incline of his head. “What should we toast to tonight?”

The words spring to Dean’s lips without conscious thought. “To us,” he says quietly. He holds Cas’ gaze, giving them a weight and a significance beyond their simplicity, and watches as Cas absorbs his meaning.

His smile is the most beautiful thing Dean has seen so far tonight. “To us,” he agrees, raising his glass to tap it softly against Dean’s. “Indeed.”

They keep their eyes locked as they each take a sip, and the bubbles of the champagne can’t compare to the happiness rising in Dean’s chest. Leaning in, he presses a soft kiss to Cas’ cheek, just to watch the way it makes him flush. “Come on,” he murmurs. “Let’s go see if Xena recognizes us in our fancy outfits.”

Cas shakes his head in amusement, but willingly leads Dean towards the shark tank, weaving his way through the crowds with the ease of familiarity. Along the way, they pause to grab delicious hors d’oeuvres from passing staff members, most of whom Cas seems to know.

He’s in his element here, Dean realizes. Even though he isn’t working, he moves through the exhibit halls like they’re his second home, and he holds his head high as he chats with people he recognizes from past events. He introduces them all to Dean, who soon loses track of their names but never fails to smile politely and shake their hands while Cas thanks them for attending and laughs about his own freedom from his duties for the evening. 

He’s elegant, poised, and charming, and Dean is head over heels for him.

“Maybe I didn’t think this through,” Cas says under his breath as he leads Dean away from a group of elderly women, all decked out in perms and pearls. “I should be paying attention to you, not--”

“Hey,” Dean interrupts him. “Don’t. I’m having a great time.” He smiles gently and leans in closer to whisper into Cas’ ear. “I like seeing you like this.”

“Really?” Cas gives him a sidelong look, slightly suspicious.

“Really,” Dean assures him. He squeezes Cas’ hand and presses himself even closer. “Though I’ll want you all to myself when the dancing starts.”

Cas laughs, turning his head to the side. He’s so close, his eyes soft and fond, his breath warm against the side of Dean’s face, but Dean wants to draw this out a little longer. The way he wants to kiss Cas definitely isn’t workplace appropriate, even if Cas isn’t on the clock.

“Come on,” he says instead. “We still haven’t seen Xena.”

They press on towards the shark exhibit, which is naturally one of the busiest in the entire building. The crowd drifts away after a few minutes, though, freeing up space for Dean and Cas to move in closer. Dean looks up and watches the shark swim gracefully through the water, wondering what she would make of all the fuss tonight.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it,” Cas says softly. He’s looking up into the tank, eyes wide with wonder. “Sharks are millions of years old, and here she is, sharing space with us.”

“Pretty amazing,” Dean agrees. He watches Cas more than he watches Xena now, drinking in the long lines of his body and the way the movement of the water casts rippling shadows across the gorgeous angles of his face.

“C’mere,” he says suddenly, digging into his pocket for his phone. “Let’s take a picture.”

“Dean, I really don’t think--” Cas protests, but Dean has already slung his arm over his shoulders and pointed the phone towards them. 

They take a few shots of the two of them smiling, the shark drifting across the tank behind them, and just before he puts his phone away, Dean leans in to press a kiss to Cas’ cheek as he takes the picture. He pulls back, grinning, as Cas leans in to look at the photos over his shoulder. 

The ones of them smiling at the camera are sweet, but it’s the last one that has Dean’s heart turning over in his chest. Cas’ eyes are wide, his mouth caught in a surprised smile, and the curve of Dean’s own smile is just visible where his lips touch Cas’ cheek. 

“Will you send that to me?” Cas asks, glancing over at Dean. 

“Of course.” Dean does so immediately, not wanting to forget, and saves the image as his own background before sliding his phone back into his pocket. “Done.”

“Thanks.” Cas is still pressed along Dean’s side, a long line of warmth, and when he steps away, Dean immediately sways back towards him. “Where to next? There should be a sea lion show starting in--” he consults his watch-- “ten minutes.”

“Perfect. We may have to fight off crowds of your admirers to get there on time, though.” Dean winks, and Cas rolls his eyes, but they do stop several times along the way to chat with Cas’ colleagues. 

The sea lions are as entertaining as they are enormous, which is saying something. They’re also kind of smelly. Dean wrinkles his nose as they watch the trainers take them through a series of exercises, impressed with the way they can switch so quickly from ungainly on land to graceful in water. “How do the trainers stand the smell?” he whispers to Cas. 

“I’ve often wondered the same thing,” Cas replies, laughing. “They insist you get used to it after a while, but I’m not convinced.”

They watch the show a few minutes longer, then join in the excited applause that follows. Cas looks just as impressed as anyone else in the crowd, and Dean finds himself smiling as he looks at him. “Do you ever get tired of it?” he asks.

Cas looks at him, expression turning serious. “Never,” he says. “And I hope I never do.” He tilts his head to the side, considering. “Do you ever get tired of your job?”

Dean thinks about it, but only for a moment. “No. The store is my passion. I’m not the kind of person who lives for their job, but I’m damn happy with it anyway.”

“I still have to come see it sometime.” Cas gives him a sly look from under his lashes. “Now that we’ve made it official.”

Dean swallows, his throat suddenly dry with the images Cas’ words bring to mind. The two of them in the shop, going through donation boxes together. Reading passages of old novels together, Cas’ deep voice narrating some of the steamier scenes from those Harlequin books--

“Definitely,” he agrees. 

“It’s a date, then.” Cas beams at him as he tugs him back towards the atrium. “Come on. The dancing should be starting any minute.”

Just as Cas predicted, there’s a DJ Dean hadn’t noticed before setting up in the corner of the atrium, a small crowd gathering nearby. The first few songs are upbeat, catchy things Dean recognizes from the radio, and he sways back and forth, humming to himself. Cas watches him in clear appreciation, but there’s a hint of surprise in his regard. 

“Didn’t believe me, did you?” Dean grins. “I prefer the slower dances, but I don’t mind this either.”

Cas shakes his head slowly, eyes lingering on Dean’s hips as he moves them from side to side. “Consider me impressed,” he says, voice low. “But I’m not sure I can possibly keep up.”

“Come on.” Dean stretches out his hand and wiggles his finger in invitation. “Just sway to the beat. It’s not a competition, everyone’s just here to have a good time.”

After a moment, Cas sighs and places his hand in Dean’s. Pleased, Dean hauls him closer and rests one hand on Cas’ hip, keeping his touch light. “There you go.”

Cas’ stiffness evaporates as they continue to dance, and a smile slowly spreads across his face as he loosens up. Dean loses himself in the feeling of Cas’ body under his hand, the beat of the music guiding his steps as his eyes slip closed. 

He can’t remember the last time he was this happy. 

It takes about half an hour for the DJ to switch to a slow song. As the first notes hit Dean, he raises one eyebrow at Cas and beckons him closer. “Showtime,” he says.

Cas ducks his head, laughing, but brings his body closer to Dean’s. Dean nudges him into position, Cas willingly moving as directed, and then they’re off.

He keeps it simple, but Cas looks at him like he hung the stars in the sky. His hand is warm in Dean’s, his shoulder firm under the other, and Dean can see the movement of his throat as he swallows, that delicate stretch of skin left exposed by his open collar. There’s barely any space left between their bodies but Dean moves closer anyway, until they’re pressed together from head to feet. It limits their movements, but Dean doesn’t care. 

The song builds towards the bridge, and Dean nudges Cas out into a twirl. His eyes fly wide with surprise, but Dean controls the movement and spins him back into his chest, braced against his weight. Cas lets out a startled laugh, and Dean feels an answering smile spread across his face as they continue to dance.

As the last notes fade away and a faster beat replaces them, Cas slowly leans his head forward until it rests on Dean’s shoulder. Dean draws in a sharp breath, then lets it out as he settles his own head comfortably against Cas’, his dark hair wonderfully soft beneath his cheek. It doesn’t matter that the song has switched over-- Dean never wants this moment, or this dance, to end.

Until Cas raises his head and pins him with a coy look, lashes practically fluttering as he says, “So you’ve proved you weren’t lying about your skills at dancing. But we still haven’t had a chance to put your other claim to the test.”

Dean frowns, trying to remember that conversation, and all the blood in his body suddenly rushes south as it snaps into focus. “No,” he croaks. “We haven’t.”

Cas tilts his head to the side, putting his neck on shameless display. “Shall we? Or shall we keep dancing?”

There’s no hesitation in his eyes. He’s giving Dean the choice, and it doesn’t take long for Dean to make up his mind.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says, and is rewarded with Cas’ low huff of laughter.

Hands still clasped, they leave the aquarium. The night air is fresh, but it does nothing to cool the heat building in Dean’s body. They cross the parking lot at undignified speed, but Dean doesn’t care. All he can think about is getting Cas right where he wants him: in his bed, sighing his name. 

Judging by the small smile playing around Cas’ lips as they slide into the car, he knows it.

“As much as I hate to indulge the cliché,” he drawls, “your place or mine?”

Dean laughs and tosses a roguish wink in his direction as he turns the key in the ignition. “I’m open. But I’d like to point out that mine doesn’t come with an overly invested, potentially threatening roommate.”

Cas shudders. “Good point. Yours, then.”

“As you wish.” Dean peels out of the parking lot, not breaking any speed limits but coming damn near close as he points the Impala towards home.

After that, it’s a frantic scramble to get the door unlocked while Cas trails distracting kisses down the side of his neck. A rush up the stairs, stopping every few steps to press their lips together before dragging each other a few more steps upwards. Another scramble at the door to the apartment, Cas pressed all along Dean’s back, and finally, the door falling open to admit them.

As much as Dean wants to proceed to the bedroom, they should probably talk about this, make sure they’re on the same page. “Hey,” he murmurs, slowly pulling away despite Cas’ noise of protest. “You sure about this?”

Cas nods, his breathing rapid but his eyes steady. “Yes,” he says. “I’ve wanted this-- wanted you-- for a long time now, Dean.”

Dean pulls his lower lip between his teeth, considering. It’s been over two months since he and Cas first met, and if he remembers correctly, it was another two months before that since Inias left. He isn’t about to ask, but based on what he knows of Cas, he doesn’t think it’s likely that he’s slept with anyone since then. 

“Alright, sweetheart,” he says, pressing a swift kiss to Cas’ lips. “And by the way, the feeling’s mutual.”

“Good to know.” Cas flashes him a stern look that turns Dean’s knees to jelly. “Now will you please give me the tour that ends in the bedroom?”

“I’m all about efficiency. Let’s start there.” Grabbing Cas’ hand, Dean pulls him down the hall and into his dark bedroom.

Cas perches on the edge of the bed as Dean stands before him, eyes gradually adjusting to the lack of light. He moves to flick on the lamp, then hesitates. He knows Cas has come a long way since they first met, but--

“You okay with the lights on?” he asks, keeping his voice low even though there’s no one to overhear them.

Even in the dark, he can see the flash of Cas’ teeth as he smiles. “Yes,” he says. “I want to see you.”

Shrugging, Dean flicks on the lamp, bathing the room in its warm glow. He’s got no hang-ups about his body-- that’s one place his confidence has never been shaken-- and if Cas is okay with it, then he is too.

Maintaining eye contact, he slowly peels off his suit jacket, hanging it carefully over the back of his desk chair. Cas watches him, eyes darkening, as he removes his tie, then his belt. His fingers pause on the buttons of his shirt, and he raises a questioning eyebrow.

“Take it off,” Cas says. Dean has never heard his voice so rough. “Please.”

One corner of his mouth curving into a smile, Dean does as instructed, but he takes his time about it.

There’s something exciting about the way Cas is still fully dressed, watching as Dean strips, but he’s also itching to peel that suit off of him. Closing the distance between them, Dean lays a soft hand on Cas’ shoulder, the fabric smooth under his touch. “Can I?”

“Yes,” Cas breathes. He rises to his feet in one graceful movement, making it easier for Dean to pull the jacket down his body. He lays it on the back of his chair alongside his own, then returns to the matter of Cas’ shirt.

Helpfully, the first few buttons are already undone. Dean leans in and does what he’s been imagining all night, pressing his lips to the hollow of Cas’ throat, lightly at first but with increasing pressure. Cas goes still against him, one hand rising to rest in Dean’s hair as he lets out a groan of pleasure. 

Dean continues to kiss his way down Cas’ chest as he unbuttons his shirt, revealing more and more of his skin. “How exactly does an aquarium worker get a body like this?” he murmurs, somewhere near Cas’ ribs. 

“I run.” Cas’ voice is more than a little breathless. “And you’d be surprised at how much lifting and carrying we have to do at work.”

“Huh.” Curiosity satisfied but desire far from being so, Dean continues his task. He reaches the last button and slowly peels Cas’ shirt away from his torso, dropping it to the ground as his eyes land on a dark patch over Cas’ left hip.

“Is this also temporary?” he asks, tracing over the tattoo with questioning fingertips. It’s just a few lines of flowing script, and Dean squints to make them out: _sweat, tears, or the sea_.

“No,” Cas laughs. “That one is real.”

“It’s beautiful.” Dean presses a kiss to the spot, then surges up to meet Cas’ lips. “So are you.”

The flush of pink Dean loves to see in Cas’ cheeks looks even better spreading across his naked torso. “Dean,” he whispers, both hands now buried in Dean’s hair. “Let me--”

They fall back onto the bed together, all roving hands and bitten-off sighs as they learn the shape of each other’s bodies. Dean discovers that Cas’ hips are as sensitive as they are sharp, and that he can make Cas arch off the bed if he applies the right amount of pressure along them. Cas, in turn, finds out that Dean loves to have his nipples played with, and looks endearingly pleased with this discovery. 

Dean is braced above Cas, indulging in a long kiss, when he shifts slightly and feels the press of Cas’ erection against his hip. He looks down at Cas, holding his gaze as he shifts his own hips, letting Cas feel the bulge in his pants. Cas smiles dreamily up at him, his hands sliding down Dean’s bare back and circling around to the front of his waistband. Dean sucks in a breath and nods frantically, cursing the narrow fit of his pants as they tangle around his legs. He helps Cas shimmy out of his own before Cas flips them over in an impressive display of strength, his tight black boxer-briefs clinging to the truly spectacular curve of his ass.

He smirks down at Dean and shifts to straddle him more comfortably. Laughing, Dean surges up to kiss him again, now free to rock against Cas’ body and thrill at his undeniable arousal. They kiss hungrily for a few more minutes, until Dean realizes he could come just like this, rutting up against Cas and swallowing back his moans. 

“Hey,” he says, dragging his lips away. “You gotta tell me what you want, Cas.”

Cas stills, eyes dark as he looks down at Dean. He pulls his lower lip between his teeth and tilts his head to the side in that way that always catches Dean’s attention. “I--” he starts to say, then stops. 

Dean waits, but Cas can’t seem to find the words. Taking pity on him, Dean says, “I’m happy with whatever. You wanna fuck me?”

A sharp bark of laughter escapes from Cas’ lips. “I mean, yes. But maybe--” He takes a deep breath, shrugging almost guiltily. “Maybe tonight, we can…”

Dean deliberately lets his hand trail down Cas’ back, cupping his ass and watching in fascination as Cas moans, head falling back. “You want me inside you?”

“Yes,” Cas sighs. “That would be nice.”

Making a tutting noise, Dean shakes his head. “I told you before. I can do a lot better than nice, baby.”

It’s his turn to flip them over, and Cas blinks up at him in adorable confusion as Dean kisses his way down his chest again. When he reaches the top of his boxer-briefs, he runs one fingertip lightly over the material, loving the way it makes Cas shudder. “Can I take these off?”

“Please,” Cas says, raising his hips to help with the process. 

Dean has to take a deep breath to remain calm as he takes in the sight of Cas, spread out naked on his bed. From the breadth of his shoulders to those tempting hips to the strong muscles of his thighs, he’s downright breathtaking. And that’s not even mentioning his thick, hard cock, which Dean wants nothing more than to taste.

So he does. Leaning down, he flicks his tongue down Cas’ length, his hands firm on Cas’ hips to keep him from bucking up. He’s hot and heavy in Dean’s mouth, and Dean wastes no time putting all his best tricks on display. In a matter of minutes, Cas is cursing under his breath, writhing on the bed as he makes his pleasure known with no shame.

Dean is pretty sure he could make Cas come like this, but they have other plans. After a few more minutes of tantalizing licks and skillful twists of his hand, he pulls away. Cas immediately drags him up into a messy kiss, and Dean responds eagerly as he reaches towards the bedside table. 

He comes back with a bottle of lube and a condom, raising them for Cas’ inspection. Cas licks his lips as though chasing the taste of himself from Dean’s mouth against his, and Dean feels a surge of lust run through this entire body at the sight. He can be patient, though. For Cas, he can take his time.

Nodding, Cas spreads his legs, allowing Dean to settle between them. Dean leans forward to kiss him deeply as he coats his fingers with lube and gently nudges between Cas’ legs, searching for his entrance. Cas goes still on a shaky exhale, legs falling even wider as Dean presses carefully inside. 

He’s gorgeous like this, trusting and open to Dean’s touch, and Dean takes full advantage of it. He kisses every inch of Cas’ chest, his arms, his wrists, each finger in turn. He sucks a dark mark over his right hip, to mirror the tattoo on his left, and feels a thrill run through himself at the sight. Cas makes beautiful noises as Dean gradually works him open, worshipping him with every kiss and every caress.

“Please,” Cas says, when Dean has three fingers buried inside him and his lips closed over Cas’ right nipple. “God, Dean, I need you.”

“Alright,” Dean says, moving his mouth upwards to meet Cas’. “Alright, Cas. I’ve got you.”

He pulls back to tug off his underwear and put on the condom, and in the space of those few seconds, Cas seems to recover himself. As soon as Dean is safely covered, he pulls him down so Dean’s back is on the mattress and rises above him. Dean’s mouth falls open in surprise and delight as Cas grips him firmly in one hand and positions himself, sinking down onto Dean’s cock with laser-like focus.

“Fuck,” Dean breathes out. Cas’ body is tight and hot around him, the muscles in his stomach on striking display as he holds himself upright. “This what you wanted, Cas? You want to ride me?”

Cas tips his head back, eyes slipping closed as he begins to move. “Yes,” he says. It’s mesmerizing, the way his body moves, and Dean is helpless beneath him, hands clutching desperately at Cas’ hips. 

“Alright, then.” Dean strokes his thumb over Cas’ hip, just to see him shudder. “Take what you need, baby.”

And Cas does. He circles his hips slowly at first, torturing Dean in the most pleasurable way, then gradually increases his pace. Dean lies back and lets him set the pace, his hands on Cas’ hips steadying but not guiding. Cas rises and falls above him, the muscles in his thighs working furiously as he raises himself up and slams back down. 

Dean is perfectly content to let him set the pace, but there’s one thing he’ll be selfish enough to ask for. “Look at me,” he coaxes. “Come on, Cas.”

Cas shudders and looks down at him, his blue eyes clouded with desire. He meets Dean’s gaze on a particularly deep thrust and they both moan, the pleasure heightened by the intensity with which they’re staring into each other’s eyes. 

Dean isn’t familiar with Cas’ rhythms yet, but the telltale signs of impending orgasm are all there: the frenzied movements, the sharp breaths, the flush spreading down his body. Desperate to see how beautiful he looks when he comes, Dean slides his hand around Cas’ waist and closes it over his cock, stroking him lightly in time with his movements.

“Dean,” Cas gasps out. “Yes, god. Just like that.”

Gritting his teeth to stave off his own climax, Dean continues to stroke him. “Come on,” he says again. “I bet you’re gorgeous when you come. Let me see it, Cas. Just let go.”

With a long moan, Cas does. He spills over Dean’s hand, his hips jerking as his pleasure crashes through him. Dean watches, fascinated, still buried deep inside him, as Cas slowly comes back to himself.

He looks down and meets Dean’s eyes, his own shining bright and clear. Tugging at Dean’s shoulders, he rolls them over again, Dean’s cock sliding free as he does. Once Cas is on his back again, he looks up at Dean from under his dark lashes and pulls him forward, arching so prettily as Dean slips inside him again. 

Dean is slow at first, mindful of Cas’ recent orgasm, but Cas grins up at him, sharp and challenging. “Take something for yourself, damn it,” he growls, hands tightening on Dean’s hips. Startled, Dean jerks forward with more force than intended, but Cas just sighs in satisfaction and pulls Dean closer.

So Dean lets go. He snaps his hips forward, encouraged by Cas’ grip, and then does it again. His heart pounds in his chest, and he can feel the familiar tightening in his abdomen, hinting that it won’t be long before he follows Cas over the edge.

“Look at me,” Cas commands, and Dean drags his eyes back up to meet his. Cas stares at him, lips softly parted and cheeks flushed, and says, “I’m so damn happy I met you, Dean Winchester.”

With a choked-off moan, Dean comes. His entire body lights up as he spills into the condom, and he slumps forward heavily, head fitting perfectly into the crook of Cas’ shoulder. One of Cas’ hands comes to rest in his hair again, stroking it away from his face, and Dean sighs in contentment as he nuzzles against Cas’ warm skin.

“Jesus,” he breathes out. He hasn’t felt so wrung out after sex in-- well, ever. Reluctantly, he pulls himself out of Cas’ embrace and looks down at his sticky, sweaty chest in dismay. “I’m probably as stinky as those sea lions.”

Cas laughs, sitting up in a way that makes the muscles in his stomach ripple in a very intriguing manner. “Not at all,” he says, voice low as he presses a kiss to Dean’s bare shoulder. “However, I would very much like to share a shower with you.”

“You got it.” Dean climbs off the bed, legs slightly unsteady, and pulls Cas up after him. He hesitates, giving him a sidelong look, then says, “Will you stay?”

Cas smiles and rubs Dean’s knuckles against his cheek. It’s such a soft, affectionate gesture that Dean just has to kiss him again. “Yes,” Cas says when they pull apart. “I’ll stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cas' tattoo is an abbreviated version of a quote from Isak Dinesen (aka Karen Blixen): "The cure for anything is salt water — sweat, tears, or the sea."


	11. Chapter 11

Cas pushes open the door to Winchester Wayback, smiling at Charlie’s welcoming grin as he enters the shop. “Hey, Cas,” she calls out. “How’s Xena doing today?”

“Beautiful and mildly terrifying as always,” Cas responds.

Charlie gives a nod of satisfaction. “That’s my girl. Dean’s in the back, but I can get him if--”

Cas holds up a hand to cut her off. “That’s fine. I’m going to go change, and I’ll be right back down.”

Charlie raises one eyebrow at him, leaning over the counter with visible interest. “I didn’t realize you two were at the clothes-sharing stage yet. Or is it the leaving clothes at each other’s places stage?”

Heat rises in Cas’ cheeks, but he shrugs. “Something like that.” Winking, he heads up the stairs to Dean’s apartment, finding it unlocked as promised.

He’s spent a number of nights here over the past month. He doesn’t have a drawer of his own or anything like that, but some of his clothes have ended up in Dean’s laundry pile, meaning he has a good chance of finding something more comfortable than his work clothes to change into. He smiles to himself as he finds a pair of his jeans and a t-shirt hung over the back of the chair in Dean’s bedroom and swiftly puts them on before heading back down the stairs in search of his boyfriend.

Dean is just emerging from the storeroom in the back, a streak of grime across one cheekbone. His eyes light up when he sees Cas, and he drops the box he’s carrying on the counter to free up his arms and pull Cas into a quick but deep kiss. “Hey,” he says, then kisses him again.

“You’re in a good mood,” Cas remarks when he’s able to pull back from Dean’s enthusiastic greeting. He reaches out and wipes the dirt from Dean’s face, letting his hand linger in a caress. “What’s going on?”

“It’s a surprise.” Dean grins and retrieves his box, pulling out battered novels and passing them over to Charlie, who holds a price gun at the ready. “We’re just going to finish up with these, and then once we’re closed, we can head out.”

Checking the time on his phone, Cas frowns.”Isn’t it a bit early for you to be closing on a Thursday?” Dean smiles but doesn’t answer, so Cas narrows his eyes at Charlie, but she shakes her head vigorously. “No way. I’m not telling.” She smirks, though, as she stacks the priced books in neat little piles. “But I think you’ll like it.”

Sighing, Cas accepts defeat. “Is there anything I can do in the meantime, then?”

“You can shelve these?” Charlie suggests. “Between the three of us, we’ll be finished in no time.”

It’s simple, mindless work, and Cas is happy to help out. He loves to spend time in Dean’s store, loves how cozy and comfortable it is. He and Charlie got along spectacularly well from their first meeting, when she interrogated him about sharks, Wonder Woman, and his intentions towards Dean, in that order, and he apparently passed all her tests with flying colours. 

He’s just turning back from the shelves to grab another handful of books when Charlie and Dean break into laughter. “What?” he asks, raising his hands to his face. “Do I have something--”

“No, no.” Charlie holds up her hands, still giggling. “It’s just something I said to Dean, when you two first started--” She waves her hand in the air in a vague gesture. 

Cas crosses over to the counter and inspects the last book in the box. “_The Greek Billionaire’s Baby_,” he reads out loud. “I don’t get it.”

“Charlie was trying to convince me that we were going to live out the plot of a Harlequin novel,” Dean explains. His laughter has subsided, but his colour is still high and his eyes still sparkle with amusement. He looks beautiful, and Cas doesn’t really care what the joke is if it makes him this happy. “She thought you might be a secret Greek billionaire. With a yacht.”

“I am sorry to disappoint you,” Cas tells Charlie. “I am neither Greek nor a billionaire. I don’t have a yacht, either, but I believe Balthazar does. He also owns property on some island in the Mediterranean, I can’t remember which.”

Charlie’s eyes light up. “_The Best Friend of the Rich Guy with a Yacht and an Island Somewhere Near Greece_. Close enough,” she declares. “I’m satisfied.”

Cas shakes his head, sharing a look of fond amusement with Dean. “Well, happy to be of service,” he says, scooping up the book and taking it over to the shelf. “In exchange, will you tell me what the surprise is?”

“No!” Dean and Charlie exclaim in unison. Dean gives him a stern look, but one corner of his mouth keeps twitching upwards. “Go hang out until we’re done closing up, and then you’ll find out.”

“Fine.” Sticking his nose in the air, Cas stalks over to the armchair by the window and drops into it, crossing his arms over his chest. He pulls out his phone to text Balthazar, who has recently returned from a trip to Thailand, but there’s no response.

At least Dean and Charlie are quick. Cas watches as they move through the rhythms of closing up the store, counting the cash for the nightly deposit and locking away a few of the more valuable items. It isn’t long before Dean turns to him with a twinkle in his eye once more and says, “I’m gonna go take a quick shower. Wanna join me?”

Charlie makes a face, but Cas says, “Yes,” and almost trips over his own feet as he gets out of the chair. Dean bites back a grin, and three minutes later, they’re naked in his shower, Dean’s hands in Cas’ wet hair as Cas swallows him down.

As it turns out, Dean wasn’t lying or exaggerating about being good at sex. He’s creative and committed, and Cas has never felt so desired, so cherished. He does his best to ensure Dean feels the same way, whether it’s with his mouth on Dean’s cock and one finger teasing at his hole like it is now or whether it’s with Dean spread out beneath him, sighing his name as Cas thrusts steadily into him. Judging by the way Dean looks at him afterwards, soft and sated, Cas thinks he’s succeeding. 

After they’ve both come and the water has started to run cold, they towel off, re-dress, and head back down to the shop. Cas stops in his tracks at the bottom of the stairs, blinking in surprise as he sees Charlie chatting animatedly with Hael while Sam and Balthazar carry on a spirited discussion about the worst airports in the United States. 

“Did I forget my own birthday?” he wonders out loud. “I’m fairly certain it’s not for a few more weeks.”

From behind him, Dean laughs. His warm hand settles on Cas’ lower back, guiding him further into the room. “No,” he says. “This was just the only day we could get everyone together.”

“Together for what?” Cas tries to keep the suspicion out of his tone, but it’s hard when every face in the room is alight with mischief.

Balthazar saunters towards him, eyes dancing. “You may recall a certain night several months ago, when we discussed potential methods for revenge?”

Cas looks behind him and smiles at Dean. “How could I forget?”

“Well,” Balthazar continues, “there was one suggestion made that I think you could still benefit from. And with the addition of our new friends here--” he waves his hand to indicate Sam, Dean, and Charlie--”I am much more confident in our chances.”

It takes a few seconds for it to register. “Trivia?” Cas asks. “You put together a team?”

Balthazar grins and sweeps him a bow that would look ridiculous from anyone else. “I did.” He glances at Dean and winks. “Well, Mr. Winchester helped. But it was my idea.”

A lump rises in Cas’ throat, and he steps forward to pull Balthazar into a hug. “Thank you,” he murmurs into the crook of his shoulder. “That you were still thinking about this, after all this time--”

“Don’t thank me until we’ve won,” Balthazar says with a shudder. “This could all still go terribly wrong.”

Cas looks around the room, at friends old and new, and shakes his head. “I don’t think so.” He slips his hand into Dean’s, and together they lead the way out to their various vehicles. 

It’s strange, walking back into a place he used to spend so much time in. The bar looks exactly the same, and Cas recognizes most of the patrons, but he’s never walked in with an entourage quite this large. They probably make a rather imposing group, and he’s smugly pleased about it.

Balthazar, ever organized, has reserved a table for them right up at the front. There’s only one problem: Cas can see his old team sitting just off to the left, and they’ll have to walk right past them to take their seats.

“You okay?” Dean’s voice is low, his breath warm against Cas’ face as he leans in close. 

Cas turns his head and meets his eyes, shrugging. “I don’t see--”

His words die on his lips as Inias rounds the corner from the bathrooms. He doesn’t seem to notice Cas, slipping into an empty seat at his team’s table. Right beside Rachel.

Cas draws in a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. He can feel Dean tense beside him, but the sight of Inias doesn’t hurt as much as Cas expected it to. 

“I’m fine,” he murmurs to Dean. “Come on.”

Head held high, he strides over to their table and takes a seat. If he deliberately chooses one that faces away from his old team, no one comments on it. 

Ash is delighted to see him, if nothing else. He holds out his hand for a fist-bump as he passes them their quiz sheet and pencils, nodding cordially at the rest of the team. “Welcome, initiates,” he greets them. “Good luck on your journey.”

“Is he always like that?” Hael asks, watching Ash amble over to the next table.

“Pretty much,” Cas and Dean reply at the same time. Dean winks at him across the table as Charlie and Sam both pull disgusted faces, unimpressed with their synchronicity.

They make a formidable team. Dean knows music, cars, pop culture, and certain strands of literature. Sam reveals a wealth of knowledge concerning animals, medicine, and-- surprising and somewhat worryingly-- true crime. Balthazar can handle geography, language, and culture, while Hael is well-versed in film and current pop culture. Charlie seems to know a bit about everything, but especially gaming and technology. Added to Cas’ own scientific background and passion for literature, they’re pretty much unstoppable.

As the first round goes on, Cas forgets his old team, forgets that they’re here on a revenge mission. He loses himself in doing what he loves, surrounded by people whose company he enjoys. The warm press of Dean’s leg against his under the table keeps him in the moment, and it isn’t until Ash comes to collect their answer sheets that Cas looks back and meets Inias’ gaze.

He can’t read the expression on his former boyfriend’s face. That might be regret in his eyes, but it might not. Inias doesn’t smile-- he never smiled much, but Cas used to love seeing his normally serious expression break-- but he does nod, acknowledging Cas’ presence. Cas does the same, a polite dip of his head, and feels Dean’s arm wrap around his shoulders as he does.

Turning away, he scowls at the deliberately innocent expression on Dean’s face. “I was trying to be composed,” he says. “You didn’t have to make a point so bluntly.”

Dean shakes his head and uses one finger to tilt Cas’ chin up. His eyes are bright, sparkling with amusement, and Cas can’t help smiling in response. “If I wanted to make a point,” Dean murmurs, “I’d do this.”

He leans forward and captures Cas’ lips in a slow, deep kiss that sends sparks flying through Cas’ body. Dean kisses him like they’re not in a public place, like they’re not surrounded by friends and family, like there’s no one else in the world but the two of them. Cas surrenders to it willingly, sighing into Dean’s mouth and reaching up to twine his fingers in Dean’s hair.

They only pull apart when Ash starts to review the scores so far. Dean looks so pleased with himself that Cas simply has to kiss him again, brief but affectionate, before he turns back to the rest of the group.

Sam looks mildly horrified, Charlie looks amused, Hael looks impressed, and Balthazar looks like he couldn’t possibly be prouder. Cas opens his mouth to apologize, then closes it with a snap. 

He won’t apologize for being happy, or for showing it so openly.

As he suspected, they’re in first place going into the second round. There are a few answers they aren’t one hundred percent confident in, but Cas is still feeling quite good as Ash comes around to collect their sheets again. “I had a feeling about you,” he says, tapping the end of his nose. “And my feelings are never wrong.” He runs his hand through his hair, making the cut of it more obvious, and smiles at Hael. “I also have a feeling I’ll be seeing you again, my lady.”

Hael sputters with disbelief as Ash walks away, the rest of the table breaking into laughter. “Am I going to have to play the menacing older brother?” Balthazar asks, looking far too excited at the prospect. “You’re a grown woman, Hael, I know, but seeing as my own extracurricular activities have been sadly limited as of late, I need something to distract me.”

Dean leans forward, winking at Hael. “I think she can handle herself. I do have an idea for you, though.”

Cas frowns, not sure where Dean is going with this, as Balthazar raises one intrigued eyebrow. “Go on.”

“Well, now that Cas and I are together, I can’t help feeling like I’ve let the good people of Kansas City down, somehow.” Dean shakes his head in exaggerated dismay. “Sam tells me they’ll be okay without the services of an emotional hooker, but I would feel much better knowing someone was out there, carrying on my good work.”

“Oh my god,” Sam mutters under his breath. “Dean, you can’t be serious.”

“Why not?” Balthazar doesn’t look offended at the suggestion. In fact, he looks quite pleased. “I’ve always been impressed with your former services, Dean. Even thought about offering my assistance should the load become too heavy.” He stretches one hand across the table and takes Dean’s in a firm grip. “I accept.”

Cas’ shoulders shake with laughter as Dean and Balthazar shake hands and immediately launch into a discussion about how best to leverage his presence on various dating apps. Honestly, it’s the perfect outcome. Balthazar is never in town long enough for any sort of commitment, but he’ll enjoy the excuse to socialize and put his not-inconsiderable charms to use. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Inias leave his table, heading towards the bar. Alone. Cas bites his lip, knowing this chance won’t come again. Part of him wants this conversation, another part thinks he’d be better off without it.

“Hey.” Dean’s hand lands on his thigh, out of sight under the table. “Want me to come with you?”

Cas looks up and sees only understanding in Dean’s eyes. No judgment, no evidence of feeling threatened by the thought of Cas going to speak to his ex. 

It’s that certainty that gives Cas the clarity he needs. “No,” he says quietly. “This is something I have to do alone.”

Dean leans in and brushes his lips against Cas’ cheek. “I’m proud of you,” he whispers, then pulls back to allow Cas to stand.

He crosses the room swiftly, giving himself no chance to change his mind. There’s an empty space at the bar, and Cas slides up, waiting for Inias to register his presence. When he does, his eyes go wide, but he doesn’t immediately attempt to flee, which is encouraging. 

“Inias,” Cas greets him, impressed at how steady his voice is. 

“Cas.” Inias’ voice isn’t nearly as strong. “You came back.”

“I thought it was time.” Cas looks down at the bar, drawing in a deep breath. “You look well.”

“So do you,” Inias says softly. Something in his voice causes Cas to look back up, to see the tentative hope in Inias’ eyes. “You’re happy, with him?”

“Yes.” Cas doesn’t hesitate before replying. “Very much so.”

“Good.” Inias clears his throat, dropping his gaze. “I wanted to call you. To tell you how sorry I am about how things ended.” He winces, then corrects himself. “About how I ended things. But I didn’t know if you would want to hear from me.”

“Honestly?” Cas gives him a wry smile. “I don’t know either.”

Inias’ face lightens for a brief instant before going somber again. “I am sorry, though. I handled the entire situation in the worst possible way. I should have told you the minute I realized I was developing feelings for Rachel, instead of denying it to myself and stretching things on for so long. I thought I could make it go away--” He shakes his head, sighing. “I want you to know one thing, though. I never-- never acted on those feelings while we were still together. For all my other sins, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

It isn’t entirely surprising, given Inias’ personality, but it’s still more of a relief than Cas expected, having that confirmed. “Thank you,” he says. “It does help, even now.”

“Still.” Inias shrugs, guilt radiating from every line of his body. “I’m sorry. For all of it.”

Cas looks at the familiar angles of his face, the way he hunches slightly in on himself, the stiffness of his shoulders, and can’t find any resentment in himself. “I forgive you,” he says. He glances out towards the rest of the room, to where Dean and the others are sitting. “A very wise man once told me you can’t control how you feel, only how you act on those feelings. I’m not angry with you anymore, Inias. Or with Rachel. Like you said, you could have handled it better, but--” He shrugs. “What’s done is done.”

Inias follows the direction of his gaze, one corner of his mouth lifting in a tentative smile. “If he’s that clever in addition to being so handsome, I’d say you’re better off anyway.”

Cas can’t help but agree. He lifts his hand and watches as Dean waves back, not barging in to defend him but making it clear he’s there if Cas needs him. 

He has nothing left to say to Inias. He feels lighter, though, and he knows he made the right decision in initiating this conversation. He turns back to face him and extends his hand. “May the best team win,” he says.

Inias clasps his hand warmly. “I hope to see you here again, Cas. You never should have had to leave.”

With that, he collects his drink and heads back to his table. Cas waits a moment longer, processing the weight that has been lifted from his shoulders, then does the same.

“You good?” Dean asks immediately, pulling his chair as close as he can. The others cast interested looks their way, but politely carry on their own conversation, giving Cas and Dean a moment of privacy.

Cas smiles reassuringly up at Dean. “Better than,” he answers, leaning forward to rest his head against Dean’s shoulder. It’s warm and solid beneath him, and he can hear the steady beat of Dean’s heart through his shirt. He wants to go back to Dean’s apartment and lay him out on the bed and spend the rest of the night lavishing all his attention and affection on him, but first--

“Alright, friends and enemies,” Ash announces, “here are tonight’s results.”

Sitting up straight, Cas takes a deep breath. Dean’s hand creeps into his, holding on tight, and even when Ash reads out their team name as the winners of the night’s quiz, the thrill of the victory can’t compare to the feeling of Dean’s fingers entwined with his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! It was so fun to step back into both writing contemporary and serial posting. I'm truly grateful to anyone who came along on this journey with Dean and Cas. 
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](https://pomegranatedaffodil.tumblr.com/), but I'm much more active on [twitter.](https://twitter.com/superhoney115)


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